


A Song of Sea and Ice

by NebulousMistress



Category: Cthulhu Mythos - Fandom, Cthulhu Mythos - H. P. Lovecraft, Stargate Atlantis, Stargate Atlantis: Legacy Series - Various Authors
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Post-Series, Related to 'The Shadow Over Atlantis', Science, did the research, the author is a horrible person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-15 03:23:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 46,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9216455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NebulousMistress/pseuds/NebulousMistress
Summary: The wormhole spat them out in the wrong universe, a horrible place where Rodney McKay had taken to the water as a Deep One and all of Atlantis danced to his Song.Once they got home, their Rodney couldn't bring himself to hide anymore.





	1. Possibilities

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Missing Pages](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8488288) by [NebulousMistress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NebulousMistress/pseuds/NebulousMistress). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first chapter is [Possibilities](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8488288/chapters/20327005) from the Missing Pages.

The wormhole engaged.

“Unscheduled offworld activation. It's... Sheppard's IDC?”

Sheppard stood behind Chuck at the gateroom console. He was most definitely not on the other side of that wormhole.

“Atlantis, lower the shield,” pleaded the man on the other side through the gateroom radio. He certainly sounded like Sheppard. “We're taking fire, please lower the shield.”

Chuck looked up at Sheppard who thought fast and picked up the radio link. “Sheppard, this is Atlantis, recommend you disengage the wormhole and redial,” he said.

“Negative to that,” came the reply. “We're under heavy fire, we have hostiles inbound, McKay's injured. We're coming through, lower the shield!”

“Lower it,” Sheppard sighed. “We'll deal with it when they get here.”

The shield fell and bolts of pale energy shot through the event horizon to fizzle against the walls. “Cover!” Sheppard shouted before Teyla came through, Rodney McKay's arm slung over her shoulders. He was gripping an energy burn on his side. Ronon came next, backing through with his pistol raised. Sheppard came last and the wormhole disengaged.

Only then did the four of them seem to realize their mistake.

Sheppard stared down at the four familiar strangers in his gateroom. “I told you to redial,” he said.

*****

Colonel Sheppard adjusted the mask and goggles he'd been assigned. This was not their familiar icy world, this was someplace entirely different. It burned their eyes, their lungs, their throats. It stank of sulfur and what little sunlight filtered through the oppressive atmosphere shone dull and red. The ocean was black and the city itself shone with an almost ominous copper-gold. To be honest, it reminded him of Hell.

At least the cold was the same.

Ronon wore his goggles under protest, annoyed at the loss of peripheral vision. Teyla looked serene and strangely beautiful with her delicate wire mask and reddish-brass goggles. At least, they looked like brass.

Rodney was still in the infirmary, Dr. Biro was patching up his energy burns. And that was weird, Dr. Biro in charge of medicine instead of Carson or Jennifer. It was almost as weird as all of the scientists who kept coming by the infirmary to gawk at Rodney like they hadn't seen him in years.

“A parallel universe,” Colonel Sheppard mused. It had happened before, though not with the gate. At least not in his experience. Alternate timelines, sure, but this was a whole new level of weird.

“It would not be the first time,” Teyla agreed. “There was the _Daedalus_ that jumped through universes.”

“And Rod,” Ronon said. “Think this is that universe?”

“He did say their Atlantis was a difficult place to live,” Teyla mused. “This is indeed difficult.” She adjusted her goggles.

“We haven't always been here.”

The three of them looked up to see this universe's John Sheppard in the waiting room door. Except, he didn't seem to be wearing his uniform. Instead he wore soft silks in black under a long grey weighted cloak. A circlet of this city's strange reddish-brass adorned his head and his eyes shone green in the half-light of the dim sconces, almost like Wraith eyes. It must be a trick of the imagination.

“We didn't plan on landing here,” this strange Sheppard continued. “The induction array went out during our trip home from Earth. This was the only habitable planet in the area.”

Ronon tore off his goggles, squinting past the tears of burning acid. He shook his head to try and dislodge the pain.

“I'm not sure this is 'habitable',” Colonel Sheppard said.

Their Sheppard smirked. It was such a familiar expression it sent chills down the team's spines. “We got used to it,” he said. “Most of us, anyway.”

“And the rest?” Teyla asked. “I have not seen my counterpart or Ronon's among your ranks.”

Their Sheppard leaned on the wall in a familiar slouch. “You went back to the Athosians,” he said. “You decided this was no place to raise your son Torren and you left on amicable terms. Our Teyla returns often enough for trade, social calls, to participate in local governance. I expect she'll hear of you in a day or two; she may come to see you for herself.”

“And Ronon?”

“Our galaxy's Satedans have been rebuilding their homeworld for quite some time now. They asked Ronon to help remake Sateda's culture, government, and military. Last I heard he was running for Parliament.”

Ronon nodded, looking pleased. “It's good Sateda's rising here as well as home,” he said.

The door to the infirmary opened and Rodney walked out, muttering about his goggles and mask. Colonel Sheppard noticed the oddly shocked look on his hellish counterpart's face. He looked to Teyla who nodded. She'd seen it too.

“Well, since you're all up we should head to the conference room,” their Sheppard said. “If there's a way to send you back, we'll find it.”

*****

AR-1 sat clustered on one side of the conference table, four of the local inhabitants on the other. Dr. Biro, Dr. Zelenka, Mr. Woolsey, and their Sheppard all had the same weird shine to their eyes and none of them wore masks or goggles. None of them wore the Expedition uniforms, instead draping themselves in soft silks of their department's colors, weighted grey cloaks over their shoulders, red-brass circlets on their heads, it felt more like a village council than an Earth expedition.

“So where's your McKay?” Rodney asked.

That was interesting, the local's reaction to Rodney speaking. Colonel Sheppard couldn't place it but he knew it was weird.

“He is already working on problem,” Zelenka said. “He has theory.”

“Great, let's hear it,” their Sheppard said.

“There was starquake on our neutron star when wormhole engaged,” Zelenka said. “The...” He paused and glanced at AR-1 before continuing. “The miners logged time, magnitude, and local effects. They are returning early due to radiation.”

“Mat'eos,” Woolsey swore.

Rodney perked up immediately. This Woolsey spoke Ancient? He and Teyla exchanged shocked glances before Rodney turned his considerable attention on their hosts. “You have a neutron star,” he said, a purr lurking in the back of his voice. “You're mining it or its environs.”

“It has planets,” Zelenka said dismissively. “Not important. What is important is we know the trigger of your arrival. Is first step to sending you back.”

“I assume you contacted the IOA,” Colonel Sheppard said. “What's their view?”

Their Sheppard looked uncomfortable. He glanced to the others who all nodded. He sighed. “We have no contact with Earth,” he admitted. “We didn't exactly leave on the best of terms.”

“What else is different about this universe, I wonder,” Rodney mused, returning his full attention on Woolsey.

Woolsey's eyebrow raised at the completely unsubtle challenge. He glanced at the others who nodded. Radek even added a smirk to his nod of assent. Woolsey turned back to Rodney and grinned. “There's one major difference,” he allowed. “Was there an author in your world called 'Lovecraft'?”

“H. P. Lovecraft?” Rodney asked. “Of course.”

“Who?” Colonel Sheppard asked.

“The _Call of Cthulhu_ guy,” Rodney said dismissively. “Yes, we have a Lovecraft.”

Woolsey's grin grew ominous. “Ours didn't write fiction,” he said. “He transcribed events and disguised them as fiction.”

Rodney's eyes went wide and he visibly gulped. “Oh?”

“Yes. You see, our Dr. McKay had a very interesting past. It turns out his grandmother was orphaned in 1928. In Innsmouth.”

“Innsmouth,” Rodney said, face kept carefully neutral.

“As in 'The Shadow Over',” Woolsey clarified. “It led to some minor oddness, nothing of import, until events concerning a machine meant to force ascension.”

“I reprogrammed that machine,” Rodney said. “It reversed the effects and that was it.”

Woolsey chuckled darkly. “Not here. You see, the Innsmouth Taint is meant to take a lifetime. But because of that machine... A transformation that should have taken decades was completed in just over a year.”

“You said your McKay is working on our problem,” Rodney said slowly, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“He is,” Radek assured. “He stopped being human. He did not stop being McKay. He has taken entire base of central tower as lab and lair.”

“What's going on?” Colonel Sheppard demanded.

“I too would like to know,” Teyla said.

There was movement in the darkness outside the conference room. A flash of eyeshine shone from near the transporter.

Their Sheppard tilted his head as though listening to something no one else could hear. He smirked. “Deep Ones adapt to their environments,” he said. It sounded like a non sequitor until the door opened and something loomed.

Colonel Sheppard and Rodney both pulled away from the door as the shadows parted to reveal some sort of creature. It stood almost eight feet tall on its hind legs, an extra five feet of tail trailing behind it. Its skin shone in the wan light, iridescent and wet. It loped on webbed paws and clutched a tablet in its twisted foreclaws. But the worst wasn't all of that or its palpitating gills or even the multitude of spines down its back that rose and fell in non-patterns. The worst were the eyes.

Rodney saw those eyes every day in the mirror.

The creature opened a maw littered with too many teeth and shrieked. Then it turned on Rodney, loping close. It leaned down over him, licked the air in front of his nose, bared its teeth, rustled its gill plates...

And Rodney fainted.

The creature murred, its tail lashing behind it.

“Well, we did just finish telling him,” their Sheppard drawled.

The creature huffed. It loped over to the head of the table and laid out its tablet. Then it began making noises, bleating and barking and growling.

Colonel Sheppard felt a headache behind his eyes. Ronon sat in rapt attention while Teyla shared a sympathetic look with the Colonel. Meanwhile the strange locals seemed to be taking this creature seriously, asking questions and making suggestions and somehow understanding the thing.

This thing was their Rodney.

Colonel Sheppard looked over at his Rodney. No wonder he'd fainted.

*****

It turned out the problem was the neutron star. This Atlantis had a rule about stargate usage from that direction because of the neutron star and its moods. When AR-1 dialed home their wormhole was caught in the starquake which dragged them across universes. Determining that was the easy part.

Now they had to get back.

There was one thing to say for this monstrous Rodney, it certainly had good ideas. At least, Zelenka insisted it did. Colonel Sheppard wasn't so sure, not even as he walked past the main labs to find his Rodney in loud discussion with their Rodney and Zelenka, none of them speaking the same language as the other. It didn't matter that they seemed to be getting stuff done, it was weird to hear English and Ancient and Czech and animal shrieking all coalescing into coherent ideas.

Colonel Sheppard found himself in a corner of the mess hall poking at the strange foods on offer. Black seaweeds, local squids, Pegasus favorites, given they had no contact with Earth it made sense but...

Ronon and Teyla joined him without a word. Ronon poked at his seaweed. “Tastes sour,” he said before even taking a bite.

“What manner of author is this 'Lovecraft' that his stories' truthfulness could cause such differences in our worlds?” Teyla mused aloud.

Sheppard shrugged. “Rodney made me read a couple of his stories,” he admitted. “Other than that I never cared for him. He wrote horror stories about the insignificance of man.”

“One man is often insignificant,” Teyla said. “It is not horror to realize this.”

“I don't know then,” Sheppard admitted. “Somehow their Rodney turned into a monster and that changed everything. He has something called a 'Song' and it's altered everyone else here. They all have those shining eyes and they can breathe the acid. And they understand him.”

“He's got great claws,” Ronon said appreciatively.

“Counselor Biro told me he used to have scales,” Teyla said. “He was once sufficiently armored so as to ignore a Wraith stunner but this world's acid has stripped him of that protection.”

“'Counselor'?” Sheppard asked.

“Woolsey, their Sheppard, Zelenka, Biro, and McKay. 'Counselor' is their rank in their current political system. Each one has an equal voice and each voice is heard equally.”

“Good system,” Ronon said.

Sheppard looked over at the people around them. One or two still wore masks, though they appeared to be more decorative than protective. Most had eyes that shone in the half-light of the red dwarf star. This was not their Atlantis.

They needed to get home.

*****

The trip home was uneventful, involving the neutron star and some jury-rigging with a ZPM. They left with nary a goodbye, save for Rodney who seemed oddly reluctant to flee through the gate away from all this hellish weirdness. The wormhole left them on a verdant world, the same one they'd fled while under fire.

This time they didn't wait to be fired upon. Nor did they risk dialing Atlantis directly. They headed to the Alpha site first before going home.

Their own home.

Later, as Teyla and Torren built a pile of snow while calling it a 'Mynah Bird', as Ronon practiced in the gym while lost in thought, Sheppard followed a hunch to Rodney's quarters. He buzzed the chime and awaited an answer.

The door opened to Rodney looking haunted and somewhat guilty.

“What's up?” Sheppard asked, worming his way in.

Rodney spluttered before making a noise that sounded a little too much like something the creature McKay would have made. Sheppard felt something wrong prickle at the back of his mind. “Rodney?” he asked.

Rodney sighed and dropped onto his bed next to a box. It was a box he'd kept in his closet for so long he could sometimes forget it was there. “So did you actually read _The Shadow Over Innsmouth_?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Sheppard said. “The ending was really creepy. The whole time the guy was one of those creatures and he didn't even know it.”

Rodney opened the box. Inside was something wrapped in black silk. “He didn't even know it.” He sighed. “If he'd known he wouldn't have been driven out of town. He wouldn't have gone to the military. Innsmouth wouldn't have been destroyed.”

A chill crawled up Sheppard's spine. “Rodney?” he asked again.

“The difference in our universes wasn't Lovecraft's work,” Rodney said, not looking at John. “It was the ascension machine. It sped his Change and did nothing to mine.” He unfolded the black silk to reveal something that glinted gold.

“What?” Sheppard demanded.

Silk fell away to reveal a gold tiara, a pale alloy rarely seen. The workmanship was exquisite, intricately detailed from the twisting seaweeds to the curling fish to the human-shaped fish-headed creatures that cavorted amidst the bubbles. But it was shaped all wrong, fitted to a head of inhuman outline.

“My grandmother was Rosalyn Marsh, orphaned in the Innsmouth raids of 1928,” Rodney said. His fingers gently ran along the details of the tiara. Then he put it on and finally looked at John, fully expecting the look of dawning horror on Sheppard's face as he slowly backed away.

Rodney closed his eyes and sighed as the door slid shut. Sheppard was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a week and Sheppard still won't talk to him.

Snow collected around the base of glass doors locked tight against the chill. Empty balconies collected snow like bowls, filling until someone unfortunate had to go out with a shovel to clear it all away. The sky glittered with the glowing aurorae that shone through thinning clouds.

A week ago everything changed. Everything and yet nothing was any different. Atlantis still drifted the oceans of this icy world. Teyla and Torren still played in the snow that collected on the balconies. Ronon still brooded at the tops of the towers, never the same one twice.

But Rodney was different. And Sheppard knew why.

A week ago was that cursed mission to P4X-775. The mission itself was a minor disaster, but par for the course for them. Angry natives with crude plasma weapons like arc-welders. Rodney injured, grazed down one side by burning plasma. Barely getting out alive. No, the worst part was what happened when they got back to Atlantis.

It wasn't their Atlantis.

Instead it was some acidic hell, every breath threatening to sear him alive, lungs first. The gravity was oppressive, the pressure crushing, the world was dark and cold and evil. That was the best descriptor Sheppard could think of. It was an evil place and it had changed Atlantis. She glowed with dark power, her metal stark and gleaming red while her intricate blue glasswork had faded into obscurity and shadow. She thrummed with a power that unnerved him, vibrated against his teeth and sent a headache through his mind. It was almost worse than the people.

He'd seen himself, twisted and altered to fit the whims of the monster that might once have been his friend. That Sheppard's eyes glowed from within like a predator's, he breathed the acid without pain, he moved through the deep gravity with a fluidity that just wasn't right. He'd seen Lorne, Zelenka, Woolsey, how they reveled in the changes brought about by that hell and its monster.

He'd seen that Rodney, or what was left of him.

A week ago they escaped that hell and returned to their own Atlantis. Their own world, their own universe, their own reality. The air was fresh and cold, smelling of salt and snow. Atlantis's thrum was familiar, comforting, her blue glow a welcome distraction. Their world was comfortable. It was theirs.

But even this Atlantis had a monster. Sheppard tried not to remember but he couldn't help it.

He hadn't been to the lab in a week. He didn't meet his team for meals anymore. He'd even skipped a staff meeting.

He just couldn't face Rodney after that mission and what he'd learned. He couldn't face him knowing what he would turn into.

A monster.

*****

Ronon and Rodney entered the mess hall at almost the same time. Old habits died hard and this one left Rodney needing food at the same time as the rest of his team. He and Ronon exchanged nods before they went to the food line, both piling their trays high with offerings that had nothing to do with black seaweed or squid tentacles. Squid was on the menu, the local wildlife meant there was always squid fried, steamed, buttered, and raw, but neither Ronon nor Rodney felt up to touching it.

As they turned to find seats they saw Sheppard packing up his tray and leaving in a hurry.

“Hmm,” Ronon mused. “Wonder what that's about.” He shrugged and made his way to the table Sheppard had vacated. Rodney followed him, visibly subdued.

Ronon dug into his food, watching as Rodney sighed and picked at it. “You gonna finish that?” Ronon asked, pointing at Rodney's full tray.

Rodney shrugged and slid his tray over.

Ronon stopped. He swallowed loudly then fixed Rodney with a stare. “Now I know something's wrong,” he said.

Rodney looked down at his tray. Suddenly he wasn't hungry anymore. He made to get up.

Ronon grabbed Rodney by the wrist. “Sit,” he ordered.

Rodney snorted, glared, sneered, then sat back down. He crossed his arms defensively.

“What's up with you and Sheppard?” Ronon asked. He started eating again.

Rodney huffed. He picked up his fork just so his hands had something to do. “That mission,” Rodney said.

Ronon waited for Rodney to continue. When he didn't, when there were no other words, then Ronon grew worried. “What about it?”

Rodney stabbed at his meal with his fork. “That, that **me** , I wasn't... and...”

“You were a monster,” Ronon agreed.

Rodney glared.

“It's true. You had great claws.”

“What is it with you and my claws?” Rodney demanded.

Ronon shrugged. “You can't be disarmed when your weapon is a part of you.”

Rodney huffed and went back to sullenly picking at his food.

“Sateda has monsters,” Ronon offered.

“Yeah, Wraith,” Rodney muttered.

“No, Wraith are Wraith. Monsters are different. When they're yours you call them 'monere'. Sateda has monere, furry creatures the size of a man with thick tails and big black eyes. No feet but four webbed hands with claws like yours were. They live in the river, in warrens under the banks and beneath the islands. Farmers will leave them offerings of beer, grain, iron, and livestock.”

Ronon paused to see Rodney growing less annoyed. Instead he was listening.

“Of course, the offerings don't always work,” Ronon continued. “When they don't, farmers will find their children Lost.”

“Lost?”

Ronon grinned. “Yes, Lost. They're not missing, everyone knows where they went. But the Lost are never seen again.”

“Your monsters steal children,” Rodney said dully.

“Yes.”

“And nobody does anything about this?”

“Of course not.”

Rodney fixed Ronon with a dull stare.

“When the Wraith come, all who can run for the rivers,” Ronon explained. “We believe it's why Sateda's stargate is so far from water. Our cities, our armies, our entire defense plan was to hold the Wraith off as long as possible to allow for the evacuation to the rivers. Because there our monere open the warrens and hide as many Satedans as they can from the Cull. They keep us there until they deem it safe.”

“Trapped underground in warrens with monsters?” Rodney asked.

“Yes. Once it's safe they will send out one of their Lost, their chosen Voice, collared and shackled. This child will wander the gates, spreading the news of Sateda's rise from the ashes.”

Rodney looked unsure; he didn't know what to think about this strange legend.

“Sateda was finally declared safe a year ago,” Ronon said. “I saw the Lost, collared and shackled, in a bar on Randea.”

“On...”

“MX something or other.”

Rodney pouted, wracking his memory for any strange missions from a year prior. His eyes went wide as he remembered something, conspicuous for its oddness at the time. A young boy, perhaps 8 years old, wearing heavy iron bracelets and a collar that were way too big for him. The child ran up to Ronon, hugged him around the legs, and asked him to stay for a drink.

“Ten years,” Rodney mused. “It's a long time to stay in a warren.”

“The legends admit, most who enter the warrens never leave,” Ronon allowed. “It's said they too become monere, shedding their human forms as they dive into the river and never surface again.”

“Or they die.”

“Or they die,” Ronon agreed.

Rodney took a bite off his tray. One bite reminded him how hungry he was and he began to eat in earnest. Ronon grinned and dug in as well.

*****

Woolsey surveyed his desk's hidden assets after making the call. Personal protection, check. 'Confiscated' moonshine, check. Distant yet worried expression, check. Assumptions thrown out the window, check. He was ready. And just in time. Rodney McKay waved his hand over the crystals outside and entered as the doors opened.

Woolsey waited until the doors closed before speaking. He opened his mouth to begin.

“What is it?” Rodney demanded. “I'm a very busy man here.”

Woolsey sighed wryly before beginning again. “There have been some odd complaints,” he said. “For some reason the majority of the expedition feels the city is in increased danger when you and Colonel Sheppard aren't speaking to one another.”

Rodney scoffed. “Talk to Colonel Human Purity about that one.”

“I wanted to get your side of the story first,” Woolsey said. “And... an admission of my own. I was an NID agent before I was asked to be the United States representative in the IOA. I have delta green clearance.”

Rodney's face showed a myriad of emotions, going from confusion to recognition to shock to fear to resigned anger to finally a blank mask.

“I've known what you are since your tenure in Area 51,” Woolsey continued. “That's why I recommended you for this expedition in the first place.”

“You... you-you-you... you **recommended**?”

“Of course. This was an expedition into the unknown,” Woolsey explained. “The legends all suggested Atlantis would be in, under, or on an ocean. Someone with your skills and instincts would be invaluable. Your professional and technical expertise were the main consideration, of course, and would have been enough to ensure your position until the British put forward Dr. Frederick Ingram. He was almost as smart as you and much more personable.”

Rodney seemed to deflate as he realized.

“I argued in favor of your inclusion, although I kept the real reason secret. Instead, I pointed out your expertise with the naquadah generators you designed.”

“But no one would have... if not for...”

Woolsey stayed silent.

Rodney sat quiet, his breath changing into something that sounded like hissing. He tensed before a snarl tore itself from his throat and he lunged at the wall. He brought one hand down at the wall, slashing at it with... claws?

And then it was over and he was shaking that hand. “Ow, bad idea, ow, ow.”

Woolsey then realized he had his desk drawer open, his hand clutching the elder sign he kept for personal protection. “Are you... all right?” he asked slowly.

“Who else knows?” Rodney asked, hands balling into fists. He still didn't sit down, instead faced the wall where four lines were now gouged into the paneling.

“General O'Neill,” Woolsey admitted. “General Landry. General Hammond knew.” All current or former heads of the SGC.

“Did Elizabeth know?” Rodney asked.

“Yes. And Colonels Sumner and Caldwell.”

Rodney snorted. At least Elizabeth had respected him. The rest of them, well, suddenly their attitudes toward him made sense.

“Colonel Sheppard knows now, doesn't he?”

Rodney nodded before collapsing back into his chair. “Apparently he's the first person I will ever get to tell of my own volition,” he said bitterly. “And it's gone the worst of any of them. He doesn't just mistrust me, he hates me.”

Woolsey let go of the elder sign and quietly closed his desk drawer. “What happened?” he asked.

Rodney sighed, his breath still wet and hissing. He couldn't seem to stop the sound. “The mission a week ago,” he said. “I'm sure the reports left stuff out. I know mine did.”

“Tell me.”

*****

That planet was hell. No, that's not hyperbole. It was a super earth tidally locked with a red dwarf star. It did not have a high oxygen atmosphere like ours here, instead it had air filled with acid and sulfur and lots of carbon dioxide. A thick choking highly pressurized atmosphere just barely on the near edge of 'habitable'. High gravity. Just visiting was torture. I can't imagine what they went through when they first landed there.

They landed there for the same reason we did. Except, they didn't have as much time on Earth to repair. Their induction array blew sooner than ours. I found their planet in the database, it's just as nightmarish in this universe. I don't know if I could have brought myself to land there.

I wrote how we got into their universe. They have a neutron star in their local neighborhood and our wormhole happened to be dragged in by a starquake. They have people mining the planets around that neutron star for neutronium! I don't even know what they need it for. Maybe it's appeasement to the rogue Asgard, I don't know. I do know they had miners out on those planets when the starquake happened. It didn't sound like they would survive.

That planet was hell. I know I already said that but it bears repeating. We ran into their gateroom, hostiles on our tails, and it was like being crushed by a ton of bricks. The air was punishingly thick, 2 and a half atmospheres in the gateroom, over 8 atmospheres at the surface. It was bitterly cold, worse than here, and with constant screaming winds. I could barely hear myself think. But the worst was the burning. It was the air, a single breath was enough to acidify a person's lungs. We're talking a pH of 3 here. It was like what I hear lemon juice feels like in the eye, but it was all over and inside, constant. Not enough to kill, not even enough to maim, but it was enough to cause crippling, searing, unending pain. They gave us masks and goggles which helped some but I can't imagine living like that.

No, they weren't affected by it. Not anymore. Everyone I saw, everyone I met, they had all been altered by Deep One Song. Their me Sang a transformation, changing every single person there so they wouldn't have to be in pain anymore. But there was more, a visible difference. They had all the lights turned down low, no brighter than the dim red star in their sky. Their eyes had changed. All of them. Their eyes glowed with eyeshine, the perfect adaptation for seeing in the dark.

Sheppard was terrified. He saw what I'd become there, a great iridescent-skinned Deep One without scales, covered in spines, Singing the Mother's Song. He saw what I'd done to help them but he didn't understand it. If we were in the same situation I'd do the same thing if I could. I wouldn't be able to stand watching everyone I know suffer that kind of pain. No one deserves agony like that. And all Sheppard saw was lost humanity. He didn't see a second him hoping his Rodney would get us home. He didn't see a second you changing Atlantis's government into something that could function without Earth's nonexistent support. He didn't see a second Zelenka collaborating with me and their Rodney to get us home. He didn't even see me helping them. All he saw were monsters. He saw race-traitors. He saw people who'd given up their humanity for physical comfort.

And when we got back, when we shook off the bends from the pressure change... _Sigh._ When my grandmother fled Innsmouth during the raid she took with her a single piece of jewelry.

I've been trying to tell him for years. He never got it, never understood. I shouldn't have tried. My Change is taking long enough, maybe he would never have noticed. But I told him. I told him, I showed him the tiara my grandmother saved from the pyre.

He hasn't spoken to me since.

*****

“I see,” Woolsey said as Rodney fell silent. “Maybe he should have been briefed from the beginning but... It was Elizabeth's call. Your... heritage is disclosed only on a need-to-know basis and I suppose she...”

“She didn't think he needed to know,” Rodney finished.

“I guess not.”

“Does Sam know?” Rodney asked. “Colonel Carter?”

“No,” Woolsey said, trying to sound assuring. “She was brought here to deal with the Replicator threat. Once her task was completed she was to be replaced with someone the IOA felt they could control. The argument was made that it should be me, in part because of my background and knowledge.”

Rodney sighed and looked down at his hands. They were webbed to the first knuckle but it was hard to tell unless he splayed his fingers. His nails were thicker, longer, altered in shape, they didn't look quite like Wraith claws but recent events caused people to make that connection. He knew his toes were longer, webbed, taloned, it made fitting into shoes uncomfortable. And he'd been eating more since they landed on this icy world, he didn't know if it was related but he had the feeling it was...

Woolsey tapped his radio. “Woolsey to Lorne. Major, will you report to my office?”

Rodney looked up, confused.

“Thank you, Woolsey out.”

“What's that about?” Rodney asked.

Woolsey reached into his desk drawer, brushing away the elder sign to grab the bottle of moonshine and two glasses. No, three. Lorne would need one just as badly. He set the three glasses on his desk and poured a generous amount into each. “You've never had the opportunity to make this call,” he said. “I'm giving you the option, but I do recommend it.”

“Recommend what?” Rodney asked.

Wolsey looked him in the eye as he passed over a glass of moonshine, or maybe it was bathtub gin. It was certainly not Zelenka's Best. “Lorne needs to know.”

Rodney's face fell to something akin to horror. “You can't be serious,” he whispered before taking a big gulp from his glass. He wheezed, hissing and coughing at the burn.

“I am,” Woolsey said. “Lorne's been with the SGC as long as you have. He worked with aliens while part of SG-11. He has the background necessary to take you seriously as a hybrid without letting prejudice get in the way.”

“And if necessary he can keep Sheppard in line,” Rodney realized. “You don't think it'll come to that?”

“That depends on what the Major's heard,” Woolsey admitted.

The door chimed and opened. “Sir?” Lorne asked.

Woolsey waved the Major in. Rodney looked guilty as he tried to hide his glass of moonshine behind his back.

“Major, you're aware of Sheppard's mental state, are you not?” Woolsey asked.

“I... am...” Lorne looked at the third glass Woolsey was silently offering him. “I'm on duty, sir, I can't.”

“Fair enough,” Woolsey said. “It's here if you need it.”

“What's this about?” Lorne asked.

Woolsey looked over at Rodney who sighed, deflated, and nodded.

“Major Lorne, have you ever read _The Shadow Over Innsmouth_?” Woolsey asked.

“I have not,” Lorne admitted.

Woolsey looked over to Rodney again. Rodney huffed, put his drink down, and started to pace. “Sit down, Major,” Rodney said. “It's not a pretty story.”

“The story starts out simple enough. A dupe of a protagonist travels to the New England town of Innsmouth, lured by tales of decadence and decay. He finds that and more, an insular community that resents his presence. Now, rather than keep to himself and not cause trouble this dupe decides to seek out information, satisfy his curiosity. He finds the town drunk, a man so old he remembers when the shadow fell. The drunk, Zadok Allen, tells the unnamed protagonist--”

“How is the protagonist unnamed?” Lorne asked.

“It's written in first person, now shut up,” Rodney snapped, hands waving dismissively. He took a swig of the liquid courage Woolsey had so helpfully provided before continuing. “The town of Innsmouth used to be a busting port in the early 1800s but the Industrial Revolution ruined things. Trade fell off and one of the old sea captains couldn't cope. You see, he'd been trading for strange gold jewelry in the South Pacific but that trade died when the whole tribe disappeared. Killed, murdered by neighboring island tribes for the crime of blasphemy. You see, they worshiped the sea monsters who made the jewelry, traded with them, even bred with them.”

“Okay, ew,” Lorne said.

Rodney glared.

“Sorry, sorry, continue.”

“Well, Captain Obed Marsh hatched a plan. He would call up the local sea monsters himself and he would do what he had to in order to get his gold trade going again. And he did. It worked fine for years until the local churches got pissy and tried to stop it all.”

“I take it they failed?”

“Spectacularly. The entire town fell under the sway of the sea monsters. The gold trade continued but now they wanted more.”

“More?”

Rodney gave Lorne a long hard look. The man looked more curious than anything. But then Lorne couldn't know how true the story was, not yet. “They wanted to interbreed. Christianity was stamped out, the town grew isolated, and the children should never die but go back to the Mother Hydra and Father Dagon what we all came from once. The sea monsters were like the Wraith, immortal save for starvation or massive damage. The children would look human at first but over their lives they begin to change. Deep One blood is strong but it's also fickle. It can take an entire lifetime for a hybrid to Change or they might take to the water right after puberty. There's no way to know.”

Lorne's curiosity changed, a wary realization dawning on his face. “I thought this was a story,” he said.

“It is,” Rodney snapped. “It's a story in the horror section. It also happened. In June of 1927 that damned moron went to Innsmouth and escaped with full knowledge of what had happened! He went to the military about it and then...” Rodney sighed, slumping down against the wall.

Lorne looked back and forth between Rodney and Woolsey. He quietly reached out for that glass and took a drink.

“They killed so many people,” Rodney said, not even looking up. “But marines won't kill children, not even when faced with monsters. So many children escaped, avoided the concentration camps, dodged the firing squad. Tainted children all over New England, some of them too young to remember what they were. It was...”

“Delta Green is a branch of the NID,” Woolsey said, interrupting Rodney's rapidly collapsing story. “It was formed by the veterans of the Innsmouth raids.”

“You're a member of Delta Green?” Lorne asked.

Rodney laughed bitterly.

“I'm not,” Woolsey said. “Though I do have delta green clearance. It allows me access to their files.”

“So these hybrid children,” Lorne said. He trailed off.

“My grandmother,” Rodney admitted. He looked up at Lorne, his eyes looking all wrong as a clear membrane slid across their surface, a third eyelid. A nictitating membrane. “My Change was progressing slowly but now... Since the Wraith retrovirus it's gotten faster. I don't know how long I'll... Well...”

Lorne nodded. His face carefully held no expression even as he drained his glass of moonshine and slammed the glass down on Woolsey's desk.

“I told Sheppard,” Rodney admitted. He couldn't stop now that he'd gotten going. “I told him a week ago and now he won't even be in the same room with me. I need to know what he's thinking, what he's doing. That mission went weird in a spectacular way and I just know he's going to try something stupid, this is Sheppard, stupid shit is practically a requirement for him but now I'm afraid he's going to target me and--” Rodney's breathing grew ragged, quick, he was quickly approaching a panic attack.

“Breathe, McKay,” Woolsey ordered.

Rodney's breath kept coming, his vision growing faint and grey around the edges. He fell back against the wall, eyes wide and terrified.

Lorne snapped up and held Rodney there, against the wall. “Deep breaths, McKay,” he urged. “That's it, in and out, you're okay, I swear you're okay.”

Rodney tried to breathe slower but each deep breath felt like being stabbed in the chest, tiny knives all around his lungs pricking and poking and tearing. He let his eyes close as he fought for air, ignoring the stabbing shredding tightness.

“You're doing good, let's sit down.” Lorne guided Rodney down, let him slide down the wall to sit on the floor. “Better?”

Rodney nodded as he breathed deep, as his panic began to subside.

“So this is what Sheppard meant,” Lorne realized as he stood up.

“Do tell,” Woolsey said, offering the man another glass of moonshine.

Lorne waved it away. “Sheppard said he was worried about Rodney's long term humanity. We're supposed to watch him, make sure he doesn't do anything, well, I guess the word Sheppard used makes sense now.”

“Word?”

“'Fishy', sir,” Lorne said. “Sheppard wanted us to report anything 'fishy'.”

Rodney groaned.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is Sheppard up to? Why is Lorne getting involved?

John Sheppard glanced down the corridor before heading off toward the training barracks. No Rodney McKay to be seen. Good. He still didn't feel comfortable with the idea that McKay could possibly be that monster from Planet Hell.

That was the worst of it. McKay was secretly a monster. He could have transformed at any time and then made them all change for his amusement but he hadn't yet. Why? Was Beckett involved in some sort of plot to control McKay's change? Had Jennifer even known? She couldn't have, otherwise she wouldn't have dated him. She wanted normal, she wanted picket fence, she wanted McKay to be her perfect man and it was laughable now that their relationship had fallen apart but surely it meant she hadn't known, right? There was no way a monster was capable of such normality.

Hell, McKay hadn't been capable of it even when he was pretending to be human.

That was the worst of it, though. McKay had been pretending to be human the entire time.

It wasn't like Sheppard would have held anything against McKay if he'd known, of course not! After all, he'd spent a whole two weeks turning into a bug once, he would have sympathized.

He would have done what he could to get McKay the help he needed. To help him stay human.

Sheppard entered the barracks to find several enlisted men all reading books. That wasn't entirely odd, the SGC did seem to collect bookish NCOs but... wait...

They were all reading the same book? Was this some sort of assignment? He took a closer look and felt his stomach turn.

Sheppard squared himself, loomed over his men, and waited.

“Hmm? Oh! Sorry, sir, I didn't see you there.”

Sheppard cocked his head at the marine who didn't even get up. “Engrossing book?” he asked.

The marine showed him the cover. They were all reading _The Shadow Over Innsmouth_. “It's weird,” the marine admitted. “Major Lorne suggested it.”

“'Suggested'?”

“A strong suggestion, sir.”

“I see...” Sheppard didn't see. Or perhaps he didn't want to see. Did Lorne know about McKay too? If so, what was Lorne's game? Was he trying to get the NCOs to figure out McKay for themselves? That could only end badly. Sheppard could imagine the marines reacting poorly, deciding to 'do something' about McKay's inhumanity.

“Sir?”

Sheppard stepped back. “Carry on,” he said before leaving the training barracks. Lorne was playing a dangerous game here. They needed to speak.

He found Lorne in his office. Technically it was Sheppard's office but he never used it, instead allowing the paperwork to accumulate there. Major Lorne had taken it over when he took over that paperwork and Sheppard had never begrudged him it.

Until now.

“Major, we need to talk,” Sheppard said as he thought the office door closed.

Lorne sat at his desk, stacks of papers and files in neat piles next to a pair of laptops both on and displaying text files. Lorne held a single tablet in his hands, apparently in the middle of reading it, although a pair of earbuds led to one of the laptops. “Sir?” he asked, as he plucked the earbuds from his ears. He fitted his radio back into his ear.

“What do you know of Dr. McKay?” Sheppard demanded.

“He's Canadian?” Lorne offered. “He's a genius? He was recruited by Area 51 right off of his second PhD? What's this about, Sir?”

“Don't 'sir' me, Major,” Sheppard snapped, pulling rank. “You know what I mean. What do you know?”

Lorne pulled his radio back out of his ear, carefully laid his tablet on the desk, and folded his hands before him in plain view. “Sir, he's still recovering from four months spent in Wraith--”

Sheppard slammed a fist on his desk, cutting off Lorne's words. “You know about him, don't you,” he accused. “You know what he is. How long have you known?”

“McKay told me himself two days ago,” Lorne said, voice calm and level. “I learned about it then.”

Okay. So Lorne hadn't known the whole time. This wasn't some obscene SGC thing where he was kept out of the loop yet again just because he hadn't been trained under the mountain with the rest of them. “Then what do we do about it?” Sheppard asked.

“Sir?”

“McKay's turning into a monster,” Sheppard said, standing up to pace his office floor. “Last time that happened he turned into a Wraith and nearly led Queen Death to Earth. What will he do this time?”

“To be fair, he'd been tortured and coerced,” Lorne said.

Sheppard glared. “And now he's turning into a monster again. I don't see a difference, Major. He lost his humanity once and we nearly lost Atlantis and Earth. What will he do now that he's losing it again? Worse, you know what his Song will do to us.”

“Sir?”

“Deep Ones adapt to their environments,” Sheppard said. “That's what the other universe's me said. But it's more than that. His Song will twist us into inhuman monsters just like it did in that other universe. We have to stop this, Major. Either he accepts treatment to return his humanity or we'll have to accept a more permanent solution.”

Lorne's blood ran cold as Sheppard turned and left. That was... not good. As soon as the door closed Lorne put his radio back in, switching it to a private channel. “Lorne to Woolsey,” he said. “We have a problem.”

*****

A problem.

That was the understatement of the year.

The military hadn't done anything to him yet but Rodney still did not like the strange collection of NCOs who seemed to be following him around everywhere. There were always one or two in the lab, several in the mess hall, even the hallway outside his quarters seemed to be watched at all hours or at least during those early morning hours when he stumbled back to his bed to sleep off the day. They weren't doing anything and that made them all the more incongruous. The marines were always there to do **some** thing. They had guard duty or were training or were there to annoy him or Sheppard put them up to it, they were never just there for their own reasons!

Something was horribly wrong and Rodney didn't dare give Sheppard the satisfaction by confronting any of the non-commissioned stooges. No, he'd have to confront Sheppard himself.

If only the moron would stop hiding. Where was Sheppard anyway?

*****

“What do you mean you won't?!”

The infirmary was quiet, slow, Carson had given the nurses the day off to work on their own personal research. Still he drew Sheppard into a corner of the empty infirmary and pulled a privacy curtain around them out of habit. “I will nae do any more research ta turn Dr. McKay back into a human,” Carson said, loud and slow like he was talking to a slow and stubborn child. “I will nae work ta damage him more than I already have.”

“Damage?” Sheppard demanded. “Who said anything about damage? I'm just trying to keep him from turning into a monster.” He glared at Carson. “You were his doctor before Atlantis, you'd better know about this.”

Carson looked taken aback, a look of sudden realization crossing his face. “Ah, Colonel, so yeh know about tha'.”

“Of course I know,” Sheppard snapped.

“It's nae a given,” Carson said with a strangely cruel laugh. Or maybe it was simply a nervous one. “He's had the scales down 'is spine ever since the underwater crash. I think the water sped 'is Change. It's nothing ta be worried about.”

“Turning into a monster is 'nothing to be worried about'?”

“Ye read the book, didn' ye?” Carson asked. “I told 'im it was a bad idea ta lead ye ta readin' that book.”

“Book?”

“Aye, the book. Rodney'd been wantin' ta tell yeh about it fer years. I worried ye'd react, well, like this. Badly.” Carson fixed Sheppard with his guilt-inducing doctor's stare, the one that made people feel disappointed in themselves.

Sheppard shook it off. “I am not reacting badly,” he snapped. “I just want him to be human, is that so bad? I want him to be able to go through life as a human being, without having to deal with being transformed against his will into a monster and destroying everything he knows and loves.”

Carson looked at Sheppard with something akin to pity. “John, the Wraith was nae your fault.”

“Of course it wasn't. This has nothing to do with the Wraith. He's turning into a monster right **now** and that has nothing to do with the Wraith and you're refusing to stop it!”

“Of course I refuse,” Carson snapped. “Yeh wanta know why?” He stormed out from behind the privacy curtain, ignoring the nurses and the single marine who listened intently from the hallway. He grabbed a tablet from his office and woke it with a shake before pulling up some files. He spun around to storm back to Sheppard but found the man right behind him. Fine. He stood in the middle of the infirmary in full view of any onlookers as he held up the tablet and pointed to pieces of a human genetic code.

“This set a genes here are allowing 'im ta grow gills, Colonel,” Carson said. “I can turn them off. They also code for the Type 2 epithelial cells in 'is alveoli. I can turn them off an' he'll have two weeks afore 'is lungs collapse in on thesselves an' dissolve from th' inside aou'. I can treat it wit' a lung transplant every two weeks.”

He swiped at the tablet, moving on to another set of files. “This set a genes are makin' 'is hands an' feet webbed. I can turn them off. They also code fer 'is havin' fingers an' toes. I turn these genes off an' 'is hands an' feet shrivel in on thesselves like 'e's got leprosy. His fingers fall off an' there's nothing I can do.”

He swiped at the tablet again, ignoring the iron hard look of stubbornness on Sheppard's face. “This set a genes here are growin' 'im scales. They're on 'is back an' arms an' thighs an' hands an' everywhere. I can turn them off. These genes code for 'is havin' skin. I can turn them off an' watch as 'is skin sloughs off in layers, one cell layer at a time, leaving nothing. Nothin' left ta cover muscle an' tendon an' subcutaneous fat.”

Carson slammed the tablet down on an exam table hard enough to crack the glass. “Is that what ye want, Colonel?” he demanded. “Or is it 'is mind yer worried about? Will he start thinking like a big bad monster? If so, I know jus' tha' thing. It's a parasite. He's had it before. I guarantee ye, Colonel, he'll no longer be a danger ta anyone.”

It didn't even occur to Carson that he might be in danger. The Colonel was furious, sure, but so was he. Carson got angry so seldom that he didn't even see the danger to himself, all he saw was what Sheppard's mindset would do to his patient, his friend. He could see, smell, hear the screaming in his mind...

“You won't help him,” Sheppard said, voice dangerously level.

“I won' torture him, if tha's what yer asking,” Carson said. “I won' kill him just because ye say so. And I won' mutilate him to make him something 'e's not.”

Sheppard pulled himself up to loom, he looked as though he was fighting not to do some killing himself.

“Colonel,” Carson said, a wicked gleam developing in his eyes. “Rodney's changing an' the last Deep One in 'is line was three generations ago, maybe further. There isn' a single genetic marker in 'is cells tha' we don' have as well. The difference between you an' him is alien meddling in **your** genome. Tell me, Colonel, are you human?”

Sheppard let him go. He didn't throttle the man like he wanted to, like he should for refusing to help Rodney. Instead he let him go, let him pick up the broken tablet and walk off into the depths of the infirmary. Sheppard turned and stalked off.

He didn't notice the nurses either.

*****

Teyla dropped into a seat across from Rodney and next to Ronon. The mess hall was busy enough and she'd just managed to get the last piece of sweetroot pie. She still didn't understand the concept of baking sweetroot into a pie but the kitchen staff insisted it made sense, like something called 'sweet potato pie'.

“Where's Torren?” Rodney asked between bites of his own pie.

“I left him with Dr. Biro,” Teyla said.

“Isn't that a bad idea?” Rodney asked. “She let him play with a scalpel last time. He's two.”

“Good idea,” Ronon said, mouth full. He swallowed. “The earlier they learn their knives the more skilled they can become.”

“Yeah, until he sticks it in his eye,” Rodney retorted.

“Enough,” Teyla said. “She said she will keep a close watch on him. I am sure she will radio me if he becomes injured.”

Rodney looked up and slumped down. “Oh great, hide me,” he muttered.

“Hmm?” Teyla looked around to see Sheppard had walked in and was looking at their table with a dark expression. “I wonder, Dr. McKay, what you did to anger John.”

“I exist,” Rodney muttered. He sighed deeply. There was no point in hiding it now, not with Sheppard storming over. “You remember that alternate universe? The one where I was a monster?”

“I do,” Teyla said, curious.

“He found out I'm turning into a monster just like that one,” Rodney said. “I always have been.”

Ronon grinned. “You'll have great claws.”

“What **is** it with you and--”

“Rodney!”

Rodney winced as Sheppard shouted at him, anger in his voice. The mess hall wasn't empty, why in hell was Sheppard trying to do this here? Was he simply blinded by hatred or did he honestly give no respect toward Rodney's privacy? Rodney took a deep breath, shoulders going back and his eyes hardening. This ended now.

“What is it now, Colonel?” Rodney demanded, acid dripping from his words.

Sheppard looked taken aback. He wasn't prepared for Rodney to hate him like that. “Rodney, I'm just trying to help you.”

Rodney stood up, pushed himself from the table. The action was slow, deliberate, angry. “No, no you're not,” he said. “You don't want to help me, you want to help yourself. You're afraid of me, you think I'm a monster!”

“You're turning into one!” Sheppard shouted.

Rodney felt the room go quiet more than he heard it. “No, Colonel, I've always been this. I've always been a monster. You just thought I was human. That's what this is about isn't it? No one told you I wasn't human. Well guess what, Colonel, given the way you've acted I'm glad no one told you. **I** shouldn't have told you. I shouldn't have trusted you. I should have just let things go as they were, you never would have had to know. You'd have failed one of your suicide runs eventually and taken whatever problem you have with you.”

Sheppard looked like he'd been struck. “You were **fine** before the Wraith took you,” he accused.

“This has **nothing** to do with the Wraith and you know it,” Rodney snapped. He was circling Sheppard now, a deliberate circling of predator over wounded prey. “Their meddling may have sped my Change but they didn't cause this. They didn't turn me into this. I was born like this, Colonel, and there's not a damned thing you can do about it.”

“We can fix it!”

“Fix what?!” Rodney shouted. “You want to twist me into a human being just like you did Michael. You saw how well that worked but if you need convincing, ask Teyla.”

“That was low, McKay,” Sheppard warned.

“You want low?” Rodney demanded. “Here's low. Teyla, Ronon, every 'human being' in this galaxy? They're not. The Ancients stole their ancestors away from Earth before humans had evolved. They look like us because of convergent evolution and Ancient eugenics. If you're so enamored by humanity take a good long look at your 'friends'.”

“What?” Teyla asked.

“The Ancients **bred** us all look like this because they were vain bastards,” Rodney said, looking around the room. He bared his teeth in something like a grin when he saw every eye focused on him. “They wanted entire galaxies worth of people to look just like them. And now you, Colonel Human Purity, with your gene so strong and so clear you might as well be an Ancient reborn. You're making the exact same judgment. I won't always look like this so I must be a monster. I must be fixed. And if I don't want fixing then I must be wrong. Well fuck you and the high horse you rode in on.”

Rodney tried to storm off but Sheppard reached out and grabbed him by the arm. A low growl was all the warning he got before Rodney hissed and struck, lashing out with his claws.

Sheppard let go. There was pain in lines across his chest, the smell of blood, Rodney hissing like some sort of snake with webbed hands splayed and claws bloodied. Then Rodney drew himself up, still hissing low in his throat, and walked off.

Sheppard looked around the room, saw their audience and their wide-eyed stares. Most of those stares weren't directed at the door, they were all staring at him. He looked at his team, hoping for some guidance there.

“You fucked up,” Ronon said. He stood up, taking his half-empty tray with him, and moved to a table of marines.

Teyla regarded Sheppard coldly. “You were never afraid of him before,” she said. “But now that you believe him to be dangerous he has been forced to lash out at you to defend himself. This is your fault, John.” She left, taking her sweetroot pie with her.

Sheppard stared down at the two trays before him. One was empty, one still bore the remains of Rodney's decimation. Dammit, it wasn't supposed to happen like that. Rodney was supposed to agree. The others were supposed to agree. Why didn't they agree?

Sheppard tapped his radio. “This is a class three order,” he said. “Find Dr. McKay.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What hast thou wrought, thou foolish man?

There was someone following him.

Rodney looked back at the little blond marine behind him and snarled, splaying claws that still felt bloodied even though he'd barely scratched Sheppard.

The marine waved.

Rodney hissed, a low warning that he would defend himself. He'd already attacked Sheppard, maiming some NCO wasn't going to make his situation any worse.

“Hey,” the marine said.

Rodney's hissing fell to confusion. This marine didn't have a weapon out, he wasn't calling for backup, he didn't even look scared. He squinted, the nametag said 'PFC Elliot'. “Why aren't you terrified?” he asked. “Who told you about me?”

Elliot shrugged. “Major Lorne 'suggested' the book,” he said. “Then he had us all take that module again, the SGC one on colleague transformations. Sergeant Scott figured it out.”

Rodney made an odd murring sound and slumped against the wall. “Who doesn't know about me?”

“Kitchen staff, maybe. Anyone who didn't read that book got KP duty.”

Rodney slid down the wall to sit on the floor. He felt cold, trapped. It was unnerving him on a primal level.

“So Sheppard sent out a class three order,” Elliot said. “That means--”

“The whole military contingent heard it,” Rodney muttered. “I know what it means.”

“We're supposed to find you.” Elliot made a grand gesture in Rodney's direction. “And here you are. My work is done.”

Rodney snorted. “Aren't you going to drag me back for 'treatment'?”

“Why? I was just ordered to find you.”

Rodney gave Elliot a strange look. “What the hell was in that module?”

“Stuff.”

The entire military contingent knew about him. By now the scientists knew too. The medical staff would know soon enough. Everyone.

The feeling of being trapped grew worse, like strands of cocoon web curling around him one by one until he couldn't move, couldn't even squirm, couldn't breathe. They all knew. Everyone. His eyes darted about.

The marine Elliot looked worried but his voice was far away and getting further. His chest hurt as he gasped for breath, crushing pain that had nothing to do with the rapid beating of his heart. He curled in on himself, trying to get away from the horrible threads of reality twisting and turning and curling around his neck.

No.

Rodney tore himself off of the floor and scrambled down the corridor. He felt the words in his throat but it didn't sound like his voice as he begged for water, for the sea, he had to get to the water, it would all go away if he could get in the water.

He got to the transporter on the end of the hall and looked back to see Elliot running after him but the marine moved all wrong, he screamed with no voice, the corridor grew dark and grey and unimportant. Then Rodney keyed on the transporter and he was gone.

The door opened on the East Pier and he ran.

*****

Woolsey sat fuming at his desk. This little problem Sheppard had with McKay had gone too far. It was way past too far. This was a potentially expedition-ending incident. Careers were in danger here, least of all his own. The only hope for Atlantis was if this problem could be stopped where it was.

Fat chance of that. Woolsey reached into his desk drawer and took a long swig of the bottle there. He wiped his mouth just as his door opened.

Just the man he needed to see.

“You called?” Sheppard said. “Look, if you could be quick I have an issue that requires my attention and--”

“Do you have any concept of badly you fucked up?” Woolsey demanded, cutting him off.

Sheppard looked taken aback before putting on his mask of annoyed righteousness.

“When Dr. McKay came to me with his concerns over your behaviour I hoped it wouldn't go this far,” Woolsey said. “I hoped you could work through your problem on your own in a civilized manner. I see now I was wrong. Colonel, you have left me no choice. I'm removing you from duty. Report to the infirmary to have those scratches looked at and then report to Dr. Robinson.”

Sheppard gaped affronted. “McKay's turning into a monster and I'm the problem?”

“Yes! Yes, Colonel, you are the problem.”

Sheppard's expression grew hard and betrayed. “You knew, didn't you.”

Woolsey took a deep breath and fixed him with a withering glare. “I have known for twelve years,” he said.

“Who else?” Sheppard demanded.

“Colonel Sumner knew,” Woolsey said. “Caldwell was briefed when he was asked to replace you. Carson knows. Elizabeth knew. It was her decision whether or not to tell you and she decided you didn't need to know. She was afraid you'd react exactly the way you are right now!”

“I should have been told!” Sheppard shouted.

“Why?! So your paranoia could have doomed this expedition from the start? You were cut off from Earth for a year! Dr. Weir needed you working with your peers, not against them.”

“I, I could have done something...”

“Done something.” Woolsey realized he'd stood up to shout at Sheppard. He sat down. “Colonel, there's nothing you can do. There's nothing anyone can do.”

“You don't know that!”

“Colonel, I'm going to give you a choice. You can either work through this bigotry of yours or you can leave. A military leader can be replaced, Dr. McKay cannot. Perhaps Colonel Caldwell would be willing to take the position.”

Sheppard took a step back, visibly shocked. “You can't do that,” he whispered.

“Your actions leave me no choice,” Woolsey said. “If you persist with them then I will have to--” He went quiet as his radio chirped. “Woolsey here. No... No, yes... Yes. Thank you for informing me. Yes, of course.” Woolsey's gaze lost any sort of pity, instead going hard. “Colonel, consider yourself under arrest.”

“What?!”

Woolsey stood up. “I believe it's considered a crime to drive a man to suicide due to racial hatred.”

Sheppard sat heavily. There was no chair behind him so he found himself on the floor.

“Dr. McKay has thrown himself in the water,” Woolsey explained. “A human being wouldn't survive ten minutes in our ocean because of the cold. I don't believe Dr. McKay has changed enough to lengthen that time period appreciably. How long do you expect him to survive out there?”

Sheppard sat up, shoulders slumped as he realized. He'd done this. He never meant for this... He got to his feet and ran out the door.

Woolsey collapsed in his chair. He didn't consider himself a drinker but as he pulled the bottle from his desk drawer again he figured he should revise that estimation.

*****

Sheppard tore through the corridors to the jumper bay. He knew what Lorne was planning, it had to be a rescue by jumper, the _Daedalus_ was a week gone and the _George Hammond_ was off rotation, there was no other way. He had to get there before...

He got there just in time, shoving his way to the back of the jumper right into the whine of a weapon being charged. Sheppard looked up to see Zelenka standing there with a Wraith stunner in hand.

“If you are here to ensure his death I will stun you and throw you out the back,” Zelenka said without inflection.

Sheppard stared at the small man.

Zelenka smiled, baring teeth. It was not comforting. “Killing in defense of another is not murder,” he said calmly. “I would not even be punished. Too much of SGC knows. No one would blame me.”

Major Lorne glared back at them. “Doc, either stun him or let him on, we don't have time for this!”

Zelenka stepped back into the jumper, allowing Sheppard the space to enter. He nodded at Major Rutherford and his team but received no response. The rear hatch closed behind him as the jumper was cleared for takeoff and lifted into the air.

Zelenka fondled the stunner, running a finger along the eerily-organic business end like it belonged to a lover. “If he is dead I will kill you,” he promised, nonchalant.

“Remind me never to get on your bad side, doc,” Lorne said as he called up a HUD. Life signs were too muddled, the icy ocean filled with false readings and intelligent squid.

“We are wasting time,” Zelenka snapped. “Look for sub-cue transmitter.”

“Will he still have it?” Lorne asked even as he changed the search parameters. “Yes! Right there!” A single dot moved in the waters off the East Pier. Lorne guided the jumper in that direction, flying fast and low.

Sheppard stayed on the bench as the rescue team set up around him, trying to stay out of the way even as Zelenka kept cold gray eyes on him.

“Shit!” Lorne shouted. “He saw us!”

“What does that mean?” Sheppard asked. He was ignored as the jumper's rear hatch opened to biting wind and icy sea spray.

“He's diving deep,” Lorne said, shouting information into the back. “Thirty feet, forty feet, fifty, he's bottomed out at fifty seven feet.”

“He's waiting for us to leave.”

“We can't get him at that depth.”

“How long can he hold his breath?”

“He's been out here fourteen minutes, he'll go unconscious any moment.”

“We can't just leave him here.”

Sheppard listened to the words around him and looked at the rescue team's gear. They were all decked out in arctic diving gear and had an array of ropes, harnesses, a rescue cage. He saw one length of rope unattended, its end tied around a strut. Before he knew it he was off the bench, rope in hand as he dove out of the back of the jumper.

It was only a five foot drop to the water below but it felt like forever as he heard people screaming behind him. Then he hit the water and all he knew was pain.

*****

Cold.

He was so cold.

The cold was oppressive, sapping his strength. But he couldn't go back there. He couldn't face the rest of them.

They were here, seeking him, looking to put him in a cage to be studied. Stared at, mocked, experimented on, he remembered the stories his father told him of Delta Green, of the camps and the evil men who took everything from them just for being different.

It was happening again. Everything had been taken from him again. Well he would just have to live without this time. He dove beneath the waves, a single breath to sustain him. He was so tired, though, and it would be nice to sleep. One breath could sustain him for a few minutes...

A crashing sound above him, far above, drew his attention. He swam up, movements slowed by the cold. There was... no...

There couldn't be someone in the water, that was ridiculous. But there he was, thrashing and screaming his final breath into the sea.

Sheppard?

But Sheppard drove him here, drove him into the water where he belonged. Nothing more than a monster.

Panicked human eyes met with his and Sheppard reached out plaintively with a hand that was rapidly turning pale, blue, deathly cold.

Rodney watched as the life faded from those eyes. The hope never ebbed even as those eyes lost focus.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't let Sheppard die. Rodney grabbed Sheppard and began swimming to the surface.

*****

Inside the jumper the first diver was ready to jump in when the rope went taut.

“Grab the rope!”

“Lower the jumper!”

“We're already as far as I can go!”

A single clawed hand slammed into the ramp but it skitted back toward the edge. Those claws tried again, scratching into the polymers of the ramp and catching on a seam in the plastic. They held on as a wet shape was heaved up onto the ramp.

Rescue divers pulled it up, dragging Colonel Sheppard into the jumper. He was frigid cold, his head lolling and his eyes unfocused.

Then those claws hoisted something else up into the jumper.

It was unclothed, blue and grey scales covering its back and upper limbs. It was larger than expected, fatter around, but its movements unhindered by size. Its hands were webbed to the first knuckle and tipped with dark claws. Its feet were worse, fully webbed and clawed, arched like an animal's. But the worst were the eyes.

They all knew those eyes in that all too familiar face.

Zelenka darted forward and threw himself into the monster's arms. “You're alive!” he exclaimed. “We were so worried, so sure you wouldn't be but you're alive! And you are freezing cold.” Zelenka pulled away, shivering at the wet feeling of his own clothes soaked with icy water.

“Is he dead?” Lorne asked as Rutherford examined Sheppard.

Sheppard was loose, unresponsive, his eyes unfocused. He wasn't breathing.

*****

“Infirmary, this is Jumper 8, we have a medical emergency, one drowning victim.”

Carson looked up, his nurses all looking at him with the same confusion he felt. “Come again?” he asked. “Jumper 8, repeat that.”

“One drowning victim, ETA 2 minutes, medical team to the jumper bay.”

“You heard the man, let's go,” Carson shouted and the infirmary mobilized. He still wasn't sure why they were calling Rodney in as a drowning victim. Unless the unthinkable had happened and...

It wasn't Rodney. Carson looked surprised when Sheppard was carried, cold and unresponsive, from the back of the jumper and laid on the gurney. Still, training kicked in and treatment began immediately as Sheppard was wheeled back to the infirmary, as CPR began, as he was intubated.

Rodney sat on the bench, hiding under an emergency blanket to keep the cold in. He wasn't sure why but he felt he needed to keep the cold in, keep it from escaping before he overheated. He already felt warm, too warm as his hands and feet hurt from the oppressive heat.

He didn't get to stay there long, not as Lorne and Zelenka and Major Rutherford's rescue crew waited for him. Human hands all reached for him, coaxing him out of the safety of the cold jumper, out into the city where there would be staring eyes and accusing fingers and whispered voices. He didn't want to go.

“Rodney, please,” Zelenka said. “Come with us.”

Rodney looked up at him, fear evident in eyes that seemed too blue, too large. A clear membrane blinked tiny ice crystals from those eyes. He still looked so human...

“Come on, doc, you need to be checked out,” Lorne said. “It's safe. I promise.”

Rodney huffed and nodded, rising unsteadily to his feet. The bones in his feet shifted as he tried to keep his balance, his weight resting on the balls of his feet, his toes spread and claws grasping at the floor of the jumper. He looked down, trying to figure out his own stance.

“I guess shoes are out,” Lorne said lightly.

Rodney snorted but he managed to stand. His ankles bounced oddly as he walked and his spine wanted to tilt forward but he managed to keep something akin to a human gait all the way to the infirmary.

Once there the rushing and shouting had died down. Sheppard was laying in the back in a shallow tub of water that steamed lightly, arms and legs dangling over the sides. He still had a tube down his throat and his eyes were closed.

“We're getting 'im warmed up,” Carson said. “I expect Sheppard will regain consciousness in a few hours. And I see you have brought the patient I expected. Rodney, how are you feeling?”

Rodney didn't answer. He still held the emergency blanket wrapped tightly around himself, both to shield himself from questing eyes as well as to keep the cold in. But he seemed to be rapidly running out of cold and he was oppressively warm, panting with heat and exertion. He couldn't seem to cool down. He gave Carson a slightly glazed look.

“Lad...” Carson gave a short gasp. “Rodney, I need you under the scanner right now.”

Rodney nodded and dropped the blanket. His skin was blessedly cold to the touch but his insides felt like they were on fire.

“What's wrong?” Lorne asked.

“It happened five years ago, after the jumper crash,” Carson explained. “Seawater catalyzes 'is transformation. Rapid cell growth produces a lot of heat and... Mother of God... No wonder ye survived the ocean, lad.”

“What? What is it?” Lorne asked.

“Rodney's gained thirty pounds in four months,” Carson said. “It's all gone into this subcutaneous fat layer here.”

“Whale blubber,” Lorne realized.

“Aye, similar to,” Carson agreed. “It's meant to keep heat in but now...” He turned to his nurses where they were 'monitoring' Sheppard, mostly watching him and poking his feet. “I need a second tub of water,” he called. “Larger than tha' one if ye can. Fill it with unaltered seawater, as cold as possible.”

It was a credit to his nursing staff that nobody questioned him, instead keeping their incredulity to a few strange looks before scrambling off.

A few minutes later Nurse Brenda returned. “We're ready,” she said.

“All right, lad, let's go,” Carson said. He and Lorne helped Rodney to his feet, holding him steady while he got his claws under him. Lorne brought the emergency blanket for modesty's sake but Rodney seemed beyond caring at this point as he was willingly led into the back room.

Sheppard was still unresponsive, his breathing slow, but Rodney couldn't bring himself to care as he collapsed into blessedly cold water, hissing and shuddering and arching at the sensation.

“Are you going to be all right, doc?” Lorne asked.

Rodney didn't answer, didn't even seem to hear him as he took a deep breath and submerged, stretching languidly in the confined space. He slowly squirmed into a comfortable position and lay still, eyes falling closed as he appeared to fall asleep.

“Um...” Lorne remarked as he watched.

Rodney leaned up just far enough for his face to reach the surface, breathing slowly before taking another deep breath and laying back down.

“He should be all right,” Carson said. “Just make sure 'e keeps breathing.”

Nurse Brenda nodded. She dragged a stool from the lab next door and perched on it.

“There's a good lass,” Carson said. “Well, Major, what now?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SGC policy covers everything.

The first thing John Sheppard remembered was pain, agony, his vision fading as Rodney watched, the unwavering hope that Rodney would come save him.

The first thing he felt was warmth, heavy and soft, pressing into him from above. His throat was scratchy, his chest ached, and he was warm and dry. He smiled.

“I believe he is awake.” The voice was so familiar yet it wasn't the right one.

“Teyla?” he asked, voice rasping as he opened his eyes.

“I am here, John,” she said but her voice wasn't the same, there was something missing.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered. “I'm so sorry.”

Her mouth twitched into a soft smile that didn't quite meet her eyes. “It is a start,” she allowed. “But I am not the one who most needs your apology.”

“Where's Rodney? Is he all right?”

“He was allowed to leave the infirmary several hours ago. He is recuperating in seclusion. Mr. Woolsey tells me that is the way of his people thus I have not sought to intrude.”

'His people'. Sheppard nodded, guilt eating at his insides. He'd been such a fool, insisting Rodney needed his humanity back as though there were no other choice. As though humanity represented Rodney's only chance for sentience. But there was more to it. The thought left Sheppard shivering, though not from any physical chill.

Teyla tucked the blankets around him. “I have never known anyone to survive freezing water like that,” she said. “Dr. Beckett called it the 'mammalian diving reflex'. He explained to me how humans from Earth can conserve their air like diving randons, sea animals. I have not heard of anyone with such an adaptation.”

Sheppard shrugged as he twisted his hands in the blanket. His fingers were still stiff from the cold. “Yeah, well, I expect Rodney has a lot of those.”

“It was not Dr. McKay who's life was saved by this reflex,” Teyla said. “It was yours.”

Sheppard looked up in confusion as she patted his hand and left the infirmary. She nodded to Lorne as the Major walked in with a tablet.

“Colonel, you're awake,” Lorne said. “Good, I have work for you.”

“Can't it wait?” Sheppard asked. It wasn't quite a plea.

“Nope. General Landry's orders. You are to watch this as many times as it takes before you leave the infirmary.”

“As many times as what takes?”

“For it to sink in,” Lorne said. “The SGC is seriously discussing recalling you to put you through formal training. Clearly sending you training modules and expecting you to complete them on your own time isn't working.”

Sheppard deflated, trying to hide under the heavy warm blankets. He pulled them up to his nose.

Lorne set the tablet up on Sheppard's lap, an act that involved pressing 'play' and tossing it on the bed. “I'm under orders to sit here and make sure you watch it.”

Sheppard sighed as the tablet showed the SGC's logo and tinny official-sounding music played. It was like a bad training video but he couldn't hide from it, not this time.

*****

The logo faded and a woman appeared on the screen in front of an Air Force backdrop. “Hello. I am Dr. Carolyn Lam, Chief Medical Officer here at Stargate Command and I'm here to talk to you today about a sensitive yet surprisingly common subject.”

The video changed. Dr. Daniel Jackson laid on a hospital bed surrounded by his team when he arched back and gasped, screamed, then began to dissolve in shimmering light. Tendrils of light reached out from his fading body, caressing all those who stood at his bedside. Then his body disintegrated, leaving nothing behind but a glowing ball of light that reached all around him, feeling his surroundings, wrapping around his teammates, until finally the light rose out of frame and took its tendrils with it.

The video changed back, though this time Dr. Lam stood beside a frame of the previous scene, of glowing light and grasping tendrils. “Physical transformation has many forms, many causes, many effects. It can range from a simple addition of appendages, the development of extra senses, joining a psychic neural network, changing physical species, or in extreme cases ascending from this plane of existence.

“Gate travel is dangerous work and that danger is not confined to those who use the gate. Those who work with alien artifacts are equally at risk. Therefore it is important to know what to do if you or a colleague has been physically transformed. Here, we'll detail a few case studies of transformation and what, if anything, was done to correct the situation. Then we'll go over some basic guidelines. Later, we'll test those guidelines against several hypothetical situations you might find yourself in here at the SGC.”

*****

Sheppard paused the video. He glared at Lorne once he saw the run time. “This thing is an hour long,” Sheppard complained.

“Yes it is and I have to sit here and make sure you watch it,” Lorne said, not hiding his own annoyance.

Sheppard sighed and allowed the video to resume.

There were five case studies, most of them involving SG-1. Either they'd pissed off the video's director or the universe just loved messing with them in particular. There was the situation with the Tok'ra virus that made them super-soldiers, Daniel's first ascension, Sam Carter's father joining the Tok'ra, an issue with the gate re-materializing someone backwards (Sheppard had not known about that one), and O'Neill's experience with the Ancient database downloaded into his head.

Only the last two had needed a solution, both involved calling in a favor from the Asgard.

Then Lorne smacked him in the back of the head. It wasn't Sheppard's fault for drifting off, this video even made SG-1's greatest weirdnesses seem boring.

*****

“Now then,” Dr. Lam continued. “What to do if this happens to you? First, seek out a scientist. Even if you are one, chances are you are not qualified to handle the situation on your own. Even the most capable of us find our judgment clouded when we're the ones in a situation. Minor problems have been solved with just this alone, given the right situation and the right scientist.

“Next, seek the advice of your medical professional. They are most qualified to determine any danger to your being, body, or mind in any situation. They are also most qualified to bring a situation to the commanding officer's attention, if that becomes necessary. Follow their orders and do not attempt to fix the situation yourself unless instructed to do so.

“Finally, be involved in your own solution. You know your own body and mind best. You know what changes are being made to you. Make sure your medical professional knows, and do not be afraid to be your own advocate. Your scientist may have a different idea for a solution than your medical professional. Your colleagues may have ideas. Seek out the expertise of those around you, your situation may not be as unique as you believe it to be.

“Remember, we have not seen everything. The SGC is discovering new things every day. There are new artifacts being brought through the gate with every mission. New viruses, new allergens, and of course new situations.

“But what about a situation involving a colleague?

“First, remain calm. Panic aids no one. Your colleague might be coming to you for advice or they might not even realize they are in a situation. In either case, you must keep a level head.

“Second, be supportive. Your colleague is likely afraid. Fear is a common reaction to a sudden unexpected transformation. Fear will cloud your colleague's judgment and may interfere with a solution. Depending on the situation your colleague may need you to let him know it's going to be all right, he may feel the need to impart some final wisdom before he loses the ability to speak, or he may simply want to share the experience. It is your job to be there for him and keep his fear at bay.

“Third, observe the situation. Medical professionals like me need as much information as possible and your colleague may not be able to give it to us. You may be called upon to give a statement about the situation. Any information you have to offer may be useful in finding a solution or deciding whether or not a solution is unnecessary.

“Fourth, be a part of the solution. Follow your orders but also do not be afraid to question a judgment you feel may be detrimental. Not all scientists or medical professionals will find the same solution and one solution will often give better results than another. Remember, we're also human. If a medical professional is unwilling to try a treatment you know will work, speak up. Sometimes the best solutions do not result in the situation being resolved completely.

“Let's look at some hypotheticals.”

*****

Sheppard felt his eyes glaze over again. He ducked when Lorne reached out to slap him.

“I can't believe the SGC felt they needed to film this thing,” Sheppard complained.

“It gets better,” Lorne said.

“The only way this can get better is by ending.”

“Shut up. Sir.”

There were forty minutes left to this boring video.

“It gets funnier, sir,” Lorne promised.

Sheppard wasn't too sure.

*****

“In this situation, Dr. Eliza Tran has been working on the Asgard database for three months. When she began the machine scanned her and she was knocked unconscious by a beam of light. Medical staff checked her out and found no damage thus she was allowed to keep working. The event was never duplicated. Now, three months later, she has begun to suspect a situation.”

'Dr. Tran' looked like a marine with the haircut, the posture, and the way her eyes moved as she read her lines from a cue card off-camera. “Doctor, there is something wrong with me. I don't feel right in the morning. I know what you're thinking and it can't be that.”

Dr. Lam's voice cut over the scene as the characters paused. “Be honest.”

“I haven't gotten laid in a year,” Dr. Tran said, making a face at the cue card.

The medical doctor, nametag 'Bob', made some general motions that looked like the script had said 'performs a medical exam.' The scene cut to the results of that exam. “Dr. Tran, you're pregnant.”

“But how?!”

“Your file says the machine scanned and stunned you. I'd like to run some tests.”

The next scene showed Dr. Tran sitting on the edge of the bed while Dr. Bob and General O'Neill stood looking at a screen, hands on their chins as they went 'hmm'. The characters paused.

“Be involved in your own solution,” Dr. Lam's voiceover encouraged.

Dr. Tran scowled at the camera before moving over to stand next to the others, hand to her chin as she 'hmm'ed with the rest of them.

“You're right, it's Asgard,” O'Neill agreed.

“I have an Asgard growing inside me?” Dr. Tran asked.

“Congratulations,” O'Neill said. “However, we need some procedures for the database.”

The scene cut and Dr. Lam stood in front of the camera. “Of course, not all procedures go as planned,” she said.

The scene cut back to the medical bay where an unconscious man in a lab coat was being rolled in. “He was working on the database when there was this flash and it knocked him out,” said the technician.

Dr. Bob was there in an instant. The scene paused.

“Never assume a situation will remain within the bounds of normality,” said Dr. Lam's voiceover.

The scene started up again. “Get him a pregnancy test,” Bob ordered.

The next scene showed the man sitting on the edge of the bed looking shell-shocked. General O'Neill and Dr. Tran were back, both looking at the same screen with Bob, the same expression of 'hmm' on their faces as before.

O'Neill shrugged. “Cigars all around,” he said.

“General, that's not your line,” Dr. Lam's voiceover scolded.

“No, but that would be my reaction,” O'Neill said. “I'd rather the Asgard had asked first but they never did before so why would this be any different.”

The voiceover groaned.

“Hey, are we sure the database doesn't do this in real life?” O'Neill asked. “Because I use that thing a lot and lately I've been feeling a little...” He paused, eyes wide and looked down at his own belly.

“Congratulations, sir,” Dr. Tran said, handing him a cigar.

The scene ended. Dr. Lam stood in front of the Air Force backdrop, looking slightly annoyed.

*****

Sheppard snorted, clapping a hand over his face to hold it in.

Lorne grinned. “They get worse, sir,” he promised.

Sheppard settled down in his infirmary bed and propped the tablet up on his knees. “Okay, maybe this isn't a complete waste of time.”

“Master Sergeant Harriman extracted the best scenarios out of the modules,” Lorne said. “They're always good for a laugh.”

Sheppard grinned.

*****

“In this situation, Dr. Jackson has lost corporeal form again and is lurking around the SGC trying to get people to notice him.”

Dr. Jackson looked sullen and affronted as he walked on the scene. It may have had something to do with the glitter painted all over his face, skin, hair, and the white sweatsuit he was wearing. “I look ridiculous,” he said.

“You're supposed to look 'ascended',” Dr. Lam said from her voiceover.

“I know what I looked like when I was ascended,” Daniel said. “It wasn't this. No, after the tendrils merged, twisting like ropes all around me, binding me into one form...”

“Dr. Jackson?” Dr. Lam asked. Her voiceover sounded unsure.

Daniel's face changed, eyes closing as he lost himself to beautiful, terrible memory. “I was miles long, yet so small I could flit between atoms, any size I wanted, endless coils roiling and writhing, reality bending as I slithered...”

“Dr. Jackson?” Dr. Lam now sounded a little scared.

There was no way to tell if it was a camera trick or not as the reality around Dr. Jackson seemed to drag as he spun slowly in a circle, alone and sparkly. The glitter seemed to wink red as he spoke, red then white then an empty black. “...held aloft by one lazy wing, flapping slowly against the aether. The gates themselves trembled as I flew too close, my tail flicking wormholes as I passed...” He seemed to make a sound halfway between a sigh and a purr.

“Okay, Dr. Jackson, that's enough. O'Neill! Get down here quick it's happening again!”

Daniel hissed as General O'Neill ran onto the scene. Jack stopped in mid-stride, not wanting to get too close. “Daniel, you're all sparkly,” he said.

“I tried to tell them,” Daniel purred. “This stupid thing you're filming, they wanted me to be 'ascended'... Jack... I remember what it was like...”

“I told you to leave him out of this,” Jack scolded, glaring into the camera.

“I didn't think it would be this bad,” Dr. Lam protested from the voiceover.

Daniel plastered himself across Jack's front, leaving glitter all over Jack's uniform. “You never wanted to know what it was like,” Daniel purred. “I can show you. The coils, the tendrils, the three-lobed burning eye...”

Jack grabbed Daniel's wrists and pulled them off his shoulders. “Daniel, you're nuts.”

Daniel purred, nuzzling Jack's neck.

“All right, cut the feed, jokes over, Daniel, listen to me,” Jack said, almost pleading. “You're losing touch with the physical world again. Ascending would be a bad thing. Eventually the others just won't let you come back and then Earth would be boring. Come on, Daniel, come back, and I sure as hell am not ascending with you.”

Daniel pulled away from Jack just enough to pout then lean in to lick his face.

“Not the time!” Jack shouted.

The scene began to warble, reality twisting and then the scene cut abruptly. It returned to Dr. Lam in front of the Air Force backdrop. “That... was not initially a situation but it became one quickly.” Her eyes went wide as she looked offscreen then dove forward. A slightly glittered General O'Neill tore through the scene, running from something that didn't seem to be there. Instead the world twisted and shifted around a serpentine hole in reality that gave quick chase.

Dr. Lam came back into the scene, hair in disarray. “Sometimes all one can do in a situation like that is get out of the way. On a related note, SG-1 would like me to remind you all that the Lovecraftian Book Club meets every Thursday at 8pm in the main mess hall on level 22. Anyone suffering from a pesky case of 'being able to sleep at night' is welcome to join us. Attendance is mandatory for the following personnel.”

A list scrolled up the screen. It included such entries as 'Anthropology Department', 'Medical Department', 'senior staff of _Odyssey_ ', 'SG 1, 2, 5, and 12' and 'personnel transferring to Atlantis'.

*****

“Holy shit,” Sheppard said. “I thought you said these got funnier.”

“I also said they got 'worse',” Lorne said. “You're going to want to watch the last one.”

Sheppard checked the video's time stamp then skipped ahead to the last scenario.

“You're going to have to watch all of this over again,” Lorne threatened.

“I will need something to watch this over again,” Sheppard said.

*****

“In this situation, Dr. Sebastian Marsh has been showing physical symptoms of transformation for an indeterminate amount of time. He knows what caused it. He knows there's nothing he can do to stop or slow his transformation. He knows it's only a matter of time before he can no longer hide his physical changes from his colleagues. He has decided to take matters into his own hands and is looking for his gate team commander to tell him.”

Dr. Marsh entered the scene, a battered copy of a book held in his nervous hands. Bright blue eyes looked around the scene, somehow both dispassionate and terrified.

Dr. Marsh found his gate team leader in his quarters on level 26. The team leader was an Air Force Major with mussed hair, nametag 'Jon'.

*****

“Fuck,” Sheppard whispered.

“Many at the SGC have known about Dr. McKay for a while now,” Lorne said. “It's the only explanation I can come up with for this one. After I had the men read _The Shadow Over Innsmouth_ I screened this segment. We weren't even halfway through by the time everyone figured it out.”

“I fucked up,” Sheppard realized.

“Yes, you did.”

*****

“I need to talk to you,” Dr. Marsh said. He sat down without prompting or invitation.

“What's this about?” Major Jon asked.

Dr. Marsh sighed. “I don't know how to begin,” he admitted. “My dad disappeared when I was 13. He didn't die, he disappeared. Threw himself into the ocean.”

“I'm sorry?”

“Before he... left... he told me. Everything. There's more than humans out there in the galaxy. And there's more than humans here on Earth. Humans call them 'Deep Ones'. I don't know what they call themselves. But they've been here, on Earth, since before the Ancients. Before us. They... interbreed with us.”

Jon listened with visible dread. He didn't seem to like what he was hearing. Or maybe John Sheppard was just projecting his own fears onto this module's stand-in of him.

“The children look human at first but over time they change. The transformation can take years, decades, it...” Dr. Marsh slid up the sleeve of his shirt to show the paper scales glued to his skin. The incongruousness almost broke the scene, but not quite. “I can't hide this anymore.”

The scene paused.

“This is a situation without a traditional solution,” Dr. Lam said in her voiceover. “There is no return to humanity. There is no medical cure. This isn't even related to the stargate or the SGC, it's a phenomenon native to Earth. However, as Dr. Marsh is an SGC scientist it has become an SGC situation and should be handled as such.”

The scene resumed. “Have you talked to medical about this?” Major Jon asked.

Dr. Marsh nodded. “They know,” he said. “They know what's happening. They don't know how long until I... Major, it's so hard... The last mission the stargate was near a river and it was so tempting... It was all I could do to not...”

The scene paused again. “Dr. Marsh has admitted that his transformation is beginning to interfere with his work,” Dr. Lam said. “This is the point where a decision must be made. Dr. Marsh is worried he'll 'give in' to non-human instincts and throw himself into an alien ocean, perhaps losing himself in the process. There are several possible solutions here. First, he could be dismissed. Dr. Marsh would reenter civilian society and could finish his transformation in seclusion on Earth. Second, his gate team could have their missions altered so as to remove the temptation. His gate team would be confined to work on desert planets and in space. Third, a counter-intuitive solution. If Dr. Marsh is surrounded by an alien ocean at all times perhaps the drive to enter the water could be indulged in a controlled manner. In addition, as his transformation progresses his new physical attributes could be put to full use.”

The scene began, this time changed to General Landry's office. General O'Neill stood there instead, a strategically placed coffee mug covering up Landry's nameplate on the desk. Major Jon stood next to Dr. Marsh, who scratched nervously at the paper scales displayed openly on his arms. He scratched one off and tried to put it back on before huffing and flicking it at Major Jon.

“I see you're putting in for a transfer,” O'Neill said. “Are you sure about this? There are other things we could do here, accommodations we could make.”

“They'd just be temporary,” Dr. Marsh said, shaking his head. “A year, maybe two, and we'd be right back here. And I don't want to leave just to fade into the ocean. No, this is what I want.”

“If you're sure...”

“I am, sir. Please.”

O'Neill shrugged. “All right. Tell your team first, though. They deserve to know.”

“Of course sir. Thank you.”

The scene ended. Dr. Lam stood in front of the backdrop. “Five scenarios and five... mostly... hypotheticals. Human transformation is not an uncommon situation here at the SGC. It has happened due to alien artifacts, due to mechanical issues with the gate itself, and it has happened due to our own world's peculiarities. Being on a gate team is a rewarding and exciting endeavor but it does increase your chances of a situation happening to you. It's important to know how to react in such a situation and how best to accept when a solution does not leave you unchanged.”

The scene cut to Dr. Tran and her male colleague, both holding dolls made to look like infant Asgard. O'Neill stood between them with a large pregnant belly. “The prosthetic itches,” O'Neill complained. “Couldn't I just have just drank milkshakes to look like this?” He was elbowed in the side by Dr. Tran who was trying to look like the proud parent of a baby alien.

Next, Dr. Jackson. He blushed coquettishly as he held up a picture of a creature. It seemed to be made entirely of tendrils and tail, a serpentine thing with a great maw of teeth and one large lazy wing. The three lobed eye burned over the creature's head. He smiled as he held the picture close.

Third, a man with two right arms. He held up a trio of 'thumbs up' gestures and tried not to look like there was a second person behind him supplying the third arm through camera tricks.

Fourth, a gate team. It was a gate team made up entirely of one person, unless the SGC made a habit of hiring identical quadruplets. All four of them moved in unison, as though they shared a single mind.

Last, Dr. Marsh stood there with webbed gloves and paper gills taped to his neck. “And I'm off to Atlantis,” he said. “A floating city is perfect for someone with my talents.”

The video ended.

*****

“What... was with the clones?” Sheppard asked slowly.

“Oh, you skipped the scene with the thousand Ba'als,” Lorne said. “It's pretty funny.”

“Thousand balls...”

“Yes, a thousand Ba'als,” Lorne agreed.

Sheppard left it there, knowing full well he was missing something important.

“And you get to watch it again,” Lorne said happily. “And again and again until General Landry thinks you're truly sorry for what you did.”

“I already am,” Sheppard said, looking at the tablet with trepidation.

“Not yet you're not,” Lorne said ominously, restarting the video.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Module adapted from various corporate training modules and videos, both real and rumored.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovering in 'seclusion'. Since when does seclusion happen around here?

Rodney stretched, hands grasping lazily at nothing as he arched back and groaned. He felt the bubbles leave him, a breath he didn't realize he was holding. He opened his eyes to see the ashy gray sides of his own bathtub. He sat up, taking a deep gulp of air.

The water was cool but not cold, seawater that had warmed in the humid air of his bathroom. He took slow deep breaths as he tried not to remember.

Everyone knew. He silently recited pi, trying to keep the thoughts from coming unbidden.

_3 point 1 4 1 5 9 2 6 5 3 5 8 9 7 9..._

The shouting match in the mess hall, every eye staring at him as he admitted it all. Sheppard pleading with him, begging him to become something he wasn't, he never had been, couldn't he see that? Rodney had never been human and now they all knew it...

_3 2 3 8 4 6 2 6 4 3 3 8 3 2 7 9..._

Stripping off his clothes as he ran, the desperate screams behind him, or maybe they were only in his own head. His own thoughts begging him not to, or had the shouting been real? He'd never survive, even if he did he could never come back, never go back to the way things were. But Sheppard had assured that, hadn't he? It was all Sheppard's fault, if only he hadn't reacted like that, if only he'd been sane, if only... If only Rodney had been born human.

_5 0 2 8 8 4 1 9 7 1 6 9 3 9 9 3 7 5..._

It wasn't Sheppard's fault he'd reacted like that. It was his own. If only he hadn't said anything, if only their wormhole hadn't been redirected, if only their world was a sane and safe place like so many on Earth believed it to be.

If only...

_1 0 5 8 2 0 9 7 4 9 4... 4? shit..._

Rodney curled in around himself, whining plaintively. He couldn't even remember pi right anymore. He'd lost his position as Chief Science Officer because of Queen Death and her damned retrovirus. He was banned from setting foot on Earth ever again, cut off from Y'ha-nthlei or any chance at hearing Mother's Song.

Maybe he should have joined the Destiny Project, then maybe he would have some sort of future that didn't involve being studied like an experiment. Or maybe his luck would've run out and he'd have been able to die without anyone knowing. The human mask never falling, the Change never progressing this far, no one would ever know.

Would-haves that could never be.

Rodney sat in the water, feeling it lap at his sides, dripping in tiny rivulets between his scales, resisting as he idly waved his webbed feet through it. Suddenly he felt cold.

He stepped out of the tub, balancing gingerly on feet that didn't want to stand.

Then he heard them. Voices in his bedroom.

*****

“I had not wished to disturb him but...”

Carson smiled at Teyla. She stood in the apartment's doorway, shifting from foot to foot as though unsure if she should enter. Carson understood her quandary, he had the same doubts as well. At least he could always claim 'medical necessity' when asked but Teyla had no such excuse. What would anyone say if they saw her here?

She made her decision and entered.

Rodney's quarters were unexpectedly unorganized. The bed was a mess, bedding and blankets piled upon the otherwise stripped mattress. The desk was strewn with three separate laptops all plugged in to charge. Two more were sitting on the bed among the fluffy chaos. The floor was carpeted with papers, pages, used clothing. The entire apartment had a scent to it, a stale salt smell like one of Atlantis's ballast tanks when drained and left empty for too long.

Carson had set up at the desk, the room's single chair claimed for his use. “It's all right, lass, I understand.”

Teyla looked around the room. She found herself searching for signs of a Wraith mind, seeking their familiar organization. A Wraith would keep an ordered room, his clothes clean and fresh, unused jewelry prominently displayed like trophies. A Wraith's nest would be disordered, yes, but it would be an orderly disorder meant to convey comfort and luxury, to overstate the quality and quantity of pillows and soft silks. Equipment would be stowed where it could be easily accessed, always at the ready in case he were called upon to do his duty. These were not the quarters of a Wraith. There was no Wraith mind here.

But then, before Queen Death these quarters had looked and felt human. There was no human mind here either.

“If someone is not here for him I fear he will collapse in on himself,” Teyla said, voice distant as she puzzled out the room and what it meant.

“Aye, he will,” Carson said.

“I fear Colonel Sheppard has done much damage.”

Carson nodded.

Teyla shoved the bedding over, sitting cross-legged on the bare mattress. “Rodney told us all there were differences between your peoples and ours,” she said. “I would like to hear some of them.”

”I... I would nae know where ta begin,” Carson said.

“I have seen some in my years here,” Teyla said, trying to give him a starting point. “The ease with which your people take up swimming. The softness of form many have developed on this world. I am sure there are more.”

Carson sighed. He was being prompted, he could tell. Still, he reached out and took her hand, splaying her fingers to show how they connected to the hand cleanly. Then he spread his hand to show the faint partial webbing found between the fingers of every human descended of Earth.

“Interesting,” Teyla said.

“The ocean played a major part in our evolution on Earth,” Carson said. “Though it's nae an accepted theory outside of certain circles.”

“Why is that?”

“It's truth relies on too many secrets. Too much information kept away from the public. Too many people who'd react like Colonel Sheppard.”

Teyla nodded. “Tell me, then, of your ocean,” she prompted. “I have not had the chance to meditate on the situation. My mind is troubled and I feel perspective may help.”

Carson smiled. “I'll tell ye what I can.”

*****

The sea is a harsh mistress. Tha's one of the oldest truths of Earth. She's at the middle of our oldest legends an' our best stories.

Ye know of Earth's story of Atlantis, don't ye lass? No? Let me tell ye.

The people of Atlantis were masters o' their domain. Powerful sorcerers, masters of science and art and magic. They ruled our world with their great fleets o' ships, laying siege ta Greece, the main empire of th' author's time. But they knew too much, believing themselves greater than the gods. For ye see, lass, the people of Atlantis were nae gods, they were men. Powerful men, yes, but just men. And the gods were fickle.

In one horrible day the gods brought about great earthquakes, tidal waves, floods. The city sank inta the sea, never to be seen again.

It's different from this city, 'tis true. This city was the basis of the legends, 'tis also true. But over time the philosophers who retold the tales lost their meaning. The city became a symbol of hubris, a place of tyrants and heretics. The magic an' science an' art practiced here were shunned as beyond the reach of men.

I suppose every empire portrays themselves as the victor, even if it's their gods who get the credit. The Greek empires o' the time are th' ones we remember. Perhaps other empires preserved th' original story. Perhaps not. I suppose we'll never know.

But ye wanted to hear tales o' the sea, didn't ye, lass? Well, here's one I remember me dear Mum tellin' me.

One fine summer day a man is walkin' down the sea shore, lookin' to find a good place ta cast 'is nets for fish. He picks 'is way along the rocks when he comes across a beautiful woman singing, her long brown hair flowin' around her as she danced. He hid hisself among the rocks, not wantin' ta be seen. She was naked, ye see, her hair th' only thing to cover her modesty.

But as she danced he got a thought in 'is head. This weren't no human woman, this were a selkie. Her black eyes an' the song she sang were how he knew. Selkies are beautiful ladies, or handsome men, but they live in the sea. They have a seal skin, the skin of their animal form. Without it they cannae turn back and return ta their sea home. Ye see, lass, he got th' idea tha' he was gonna find this sea maid's seal skin an' keep her for hisself.

So he searched in the rocks as she danced an' sang, not noticin' 'im until he found her skin. She stopped in horror when he stepped out o' the rocks with her seal skin in 'is hands. “You have my skin, good sir, kind sir,” she pleaded. “Without it I cannae return to the water an' me home. Will ye give it back?”

“Nae,” the man said. “I'll take you to my home and make you my wife.”

The sea maid allowed this, thinkin' she'd get her skin back soon an' leave him. But he kept it locked away in a chest, the key around his neck day an' night. So fer ten years she was his wife, bearin' him a son an' daughter. But still, on fine summer days she'd sit on the rocks of the seashore an' gaze out at the water, longing fer her sea home. Until one day her husband forgot his key.

He came back tha' night an his selkie wife were gone. She'd found her seal skin an' returned to her sea home. But she weren't gone fer good, nae. In ten years she'd grown ta love her husband an' could nae bear ta leave her children behind. Ever after the children would find precious sea stones on their doorstep, fish driven inta their nets. Sometimes the children would play in th' ocean waves, their selkie mother keeping watch.

*****

“That's not how the stories go.” Rodney was surprised at the raspiness of his own voice, the scratch in his throat.

Rodney stood listening from the open bathroom door. Carson sat near his desk, feet up on an edge of his mattress's box-spring. Teyla sat cross-legged on the mattress, halfway between listening to stories, meditating, and projecting a pleased comfort. Rodney would have liked to believe it was for him.

He knew he looked, well, not entirely monstrous but not human anymore either. His torso and limbs had gone somewhat soft from the fat under his skin. His scales had spread to the backs of his hands and all over his back, his arms, his legs. He'd lost much of the thick white Wraith hair he'd only just recently gained. He knew his belly was pale, almost sallow. The stark blue coloring of his scales wasn't much better, not given how Wraith-like the shades must seem. His hands had lost much of their human veneer, his feet all of it, and he had talons that clicked on the floor as he walked.

“I am pleased to see you unharmed,” Teyla said.

Rodney made a murring sound, he wasn't even sure how. It just happened, bubbling up from the back of his throat unbidden.

Teyla got up and approached him. She reached out a hand, sure and unafraid. She trailed that hand down the satiny skin of his chest, the small scales that dotted his shoulders, the larger scales of his upper arm. She reached down and took one of his hands in hers. “How do those stories truly go?” she asked him.

Rodney ducked his head. He didn't look at her as tried to avoid telling her.

“Rodney,” she prompted.

“The man seeks his selkie wife after she leaves him,” he said sullenly. “He finds her family, her husband and children, seals and selkies all of them. He kills them all, trying to win back his wife. She drowns him in revenge and curses his island home, condemning the men of the island to violent deaths until her vengeance is satisfied. To this day the winter storms claim victims for her, drowning hapless fools who brave the water while she screams for blood.”

Teyla nodded. “That is an appropriate response on the selkie's part.”

Rodney looked confused.

“You expect me to side with the man,” she realized. “He coerced the selkie to be his bride. When he killed her family to 'win' her back he should expect her retribution.”

Rodney's confusion faded and he felt himself relax even as she traced the lines of webbing with her hands, drew her nails down the edges of his claws, rubbed her thumbs over his scales. “You should not be afraid,” she said. “You are ours. We fought to retrieve you from Queen Death, we will not lose you to fear. Not your fear, not the fear of another.”

Rodney nudged her face with his. What started as an Athosian touch of foreheads changed as he rubbed his face against hers and a thrumming sound, a purr, rose from his throat.

*****

Rodney awoke to a pounding on his door.

It took him a moment before he realized where he was. Ah, yes, his own bedroom. Carson had tried to 'pick up' the place and remade the bed. Once he and Teyla left Rodney had pulled all of the bedding back off the mattress and piled it on the floor, curling up in it like it was a nest. He stretched in the comfortable pile of blankets and pillows even as the pounding continued.

“I'm up, I'm up,” Rodney shouted. He got his feet under him and pushed, trying to stand. He over-balanced and landed against the wall. He tried again, splaying his toes wide and digging his claws into the floor below him. That almost did it but his balance was still poor. It would be easier to concentrate without all the noise.

He weaved over to the door and waved irritably at the crystals. The door opened.

Zelenka stood there carrying a laptop and at least two tablets. “You cannot hide in here forever, you must come back to work,” Zelenka said, his expression tired and chronically unimpressed. “People know. Is not end of world. Now put on pants...” Zelenka paused, his hardened mask cracking into curiosity. “You are nude. You look different.”

Rodney realized he was in fact without pants and blushed. He made that murr sound again before slinking back into the room. The door started to slide closed.

“Oh no you don't...” Zelenka slid around the closing door. Without the light from the hallway the room was gloomy dark, a deep dusk with no moon.

Rodney collapsed back into his nest of pillows and blankets, squirming into them and curling around himself. “I can hide here just fine,” he said, voice muffled.

Zelenka muttered in Czech, grumbling about reclusive sea monsters and lazy bosses. He dropped his cargo on the bare mattress, making sure it clattered loudly. Rodney curled closer around himself but made no move to get up.

“I am not leaving here until you agree to come back with me,” Zelenka said.

Rodney snorted. “Get comfortable then.”

Zelenka looked at the bed then at Rodney and his tight animalistic curl in the nest of blankets. He grabbed a tablet, mentally calculated the best way to pull this off to maximize comfort and minimize injury, took the best position, and then jumped.

Rodney squealed and flailed as Zelenka landed on him.

Zelenka tried to will himself heavier as he rode out the sudden panic. He'd landed backwards against Rodney, like leaping onto a bed. He held up the tablet, pretending to read the data even as Rodney pulled himself out from under Zelenka and snarled at him.

“What?” Zelenka asked.

Rodney growled.

“You said to get comfortable,” Zelenka said, ignoring the unspoken threats. “You have taken all the blankets.”

Rodney shoved a pillow into Radek's face.

Radek took the pillow and placed it behind him. He then went back to attempting to read data.

Rodney huffed and tried to curl up again. It was less plausible now with Zelenka in the middle of his nest of blankets. He could curl around Radek but that might be weird. Wait... Radek just jumped on him, that meant the man lost any rights to not feeling weird. Rodney curled around Zelenka, pulling the scattered remnants of his nest around him. He tried to ignore the man invading his nest but he was warm and there was the promise of science...

“What are you working on?” Rodney asked.

“You cannot hide and work at same time,” Zelenka said.

“Yes I can, watch me,” Rodney said as he tried to grab the tablet.

Zelenka held it out of Rodney's reach.

Rodney murred and gave up.

Zelenka grew worried. Rodney never gave up so easily. He pulled the tablet closer, pretending to go back to reading.

Rodney waited, waited, ha! He snatched the tablet from Radek's hands. He purred, sending a rumble through both of them as he sprawled out on the floor with his prize.

Zelenka smirked as Rodney engrossed himself in the tablet and its numbers. He observed the room and its occupant, calculating the likelihood of success if he were to get up for the other tablet. Rodney **was** occupied...

Radek crawled out of the nest and got to his feet. He grabbed the tablet and laptop before turning around and...

“Sviňák!”

Rodney kept purring. He'd reclaimed his nest, curling protectively in the warm spot Radek left, tablet held safely in his claws.

“You are like giant cat!” Zelenka shouted.

“I'd need a tail,” Rodney mused. “I wonder...”

Zelenka grumbled and moved to sit on Rodney. This time Rodney moved, hissing as he lost the warm spot. “You are giant scaly cat,” Radek said as he opened his laptop.

Rodney curled back around Radek, stealing the other tablet as well as he tapped at both of them. He still wasn't leaving but this was nice, being laid on by Radek on the floor in his nest, both of them listening to the soft full-body rumble of his purr.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sheppard might have found a way out. Or a way further in.

John Sheppard was not optimistic.

The SGC had sent orders for him to be brought back to Earth for training. He knew what that meant.

A replacement.

Someone would be replacing him, probably Caldwell. Caldwell wouldn't want to give up the post once Sheppard was properly chastised. That meant Earth, stuck under the mountain, an SG team if he was lucky. It meant he was never coming back.

However, there was one if. It was a big 'if' but it represented hope. Unfortunately it wasn't up to him.

McKay was the wronged party in this. If Sheppard could convince McKay to let him stay then Woolsey'd said he would talk to Landry, maybe work something out. Maybe Lorne could be put in charge of Sheppard's training, he wouldn't have to go back to Earth. Maybe McKay could do it, maybe even Woolsey. It was hope at least.

Unfortunately, nobody had managed to get McKay out of his apartment. Something about pants.

But then, Sheppard wasn't impressed by the efforts being made, either.

Laying outside Rodney's door was an MRE attached to what looked like a large steel fishhook. Sheppard followed the line down the corridor and around the corner to an airman with a fishing rod and reel, a tac vest, and a stupid-looking hat with lures stuck to it.

“I'm sure this is supposed to make sense,” Sheppard said.

“Shh, you'll scare the fish.”

“Or maybe you're taking things too literally?”

Airman Roberts twitched his pole like he was trying to make his MRE bait dangle temptingly in imaginary water. “I've had decent luck so far, but no McKay,” he said. “Caught two scientists and a psychologist with chocolate bars before I switched bait. Dr. Zelenka poked an MRE but then he swore at me and left.”

Sheppard wondered when sanity had left his life.

“I have a giant gummy worm in case the MREs don't work,” Roberts continued. He dangled his rod again before sighing and reeling in his bait. He picked up the MRE, Sheppard noted it was one of the decent ones, and cast it back into the hallway.

Gzzzzzzzzz THUD.

Sheppard watched, oddly transfixed by the weirdness in front of him. He wasn't sure if he should be insulted on Rodney's behalf or if this represented some strange SGC procedure. It struck him that he really should be trained in situations like this. Then it struck him that he was, somewhat. That was Rodney in there, he knew how to deal with Rodney. He patted Airman Roberts on his shoulder. “Carry on,” he said before heading to the mess hall.

It took him a good 20 minutes to con the mess hall staff into giving him what he wanted. News of his failure as a person and a team leader had reached all over Atlantis and it was only by saying he wanted the stuff to apologize to Rodney that he got some of what he came for. A stop by the prep rooms off of the gateroom and he was back in the corridor wearing a tac vest as Roberts cast his line for the wild McKay yet again.

“Anything?” Sheppard asked.

“Nope,” Roberts said. He reeled the MRE back. “I'm going to change bait.”

“Have you tried knocking on his door?” Sheppard asked.

“Dr. Beckett was very clear about what fishing involves, sir.”

“Of course,” Sheppard said dismissively. “I'm going to knock on the door then you cast your line. Then we'll see.”

Roberts looked skeptical and somewhat affronted, as though Sheppard was doing it wrong. Still, Sheppard knocked on the door then hurried back around the corner. Roberts cast his line, hook still baited with the MRE.

Gzzzzzzzzzz THUD.

The door opened.

Roberts grinned and started flicking his pole, attempting to make the MRE look enticing.

A clawed hand reached out before planting on the floor. A curious head followed, Rodney's eyes darting back and forth down the corridor. His eyes landed on the MRE and he cocked his head, considering it. He crept forward, still on all four paws, until he crouched near the MRE.

Sheppard could see what the pants problem was. Rodney wore no shirt or shoes, only a pair of shorts that might once have been too big for him. Now they were tight, painfully tight, unbuttoned in the front so they could fit over his middle. Yet despite that Rodney didn't exactly look fat, he just looked bigger. Larger all around in a proportional way.

Rodney poked at the MRE, audibly sniffing at it. His eyes followed the line up to the bend in the corridor where Sheppard and Roberts lurked only partially hidden. The pole was certainly visible.

Rodney poked the MRE again. Roberts flicked the pole, making the MRE slide away from McKay.

Rodney laid a webbed paw on the MRE and pulled it back toward him. He reached out to the line where the hook was tied on and poked a claw through the hook's eye.

Roberts swore and tried to reel in his line. The line went taut, stretching as Rodney held the hook in place and took his time liberating the MRE from the bait hook. MRE acquired, he pulled his claw from the hook. It snapped away and was reeled in, empty and forlorn.

“He stole my bait,” Roberts said, indignant.

Sheppard tried to ignore the ridiculousness of the situation in favor of watching Rodney. Roberts was preoccupied and didn't notice as Rodney closed the door to his quarters and loped off in another direction.

“Good luck,” Sheppard said. He ignored Roberts' wave as he followed Rodney.

Atlantis's corridors were meandering when they wanted to be, ending in blind turns and dead ends that belied the hidden labs within her walls. Generations of paranoid Ancients had left her secretive, full of hidden things that still lurked in darkness even after six years of exploration. He found Rodney at the end of one such dark corridor, sitting against the wall as he took the MRE apart.

Claws delicately tore open holes in the vacuum-sealed pouches, exposing their cargo. Rodney had the largest pouch in his hands (claws?), and was licking languidly at the contents. He stopped in mid-lick when Sheppard turned the corner, eyes staring at him.

Sheppard stopped, standing still. He wondered how McKay had seen him then realized Rodney had the same eyeshine here as that other world. Sheppard suppressed a shudder, pushing the images away. This wasn't a horrible iridescent-skinned monster who'd Sang everyone into inhumanity. He might never be that monster. Instead this was Rodney, a little less human than before but still his Rodney. Still his friend. He hoped.

Rodney slowly went back to licking at the contents of the pouch. Sheppard could smell it wafting down the corridor, one of the better MREs: beef ravioli. He took another few steps forward.

Rodney hissed, teeth bared. His face was smeared with ravioli sauce.

Sheppard stopped again, leaning casually against the wall. “Hey,” he said in greeting.

Rodney growled as he went back to eating. He watched Sheppard with hard blue eyes that shone green in the corridor's half-light.

Sheppard tried to think the lights on but he got no answer from the city, no change in the dark sconces. Instead he watched, listened as Rodney's eyes grew softer, less intense. As he stuffed his face in the pouch and a strange rumbling sound came from him. It wasn't a growl, it was more of a... purr?

“That good, huh?” Sheppard said.

Rodney stopped, stared at him, then went back to ignoring him. He tore the entree pouch in half and began licking the foil in long, slow licks. Once it was clean he dropped it on the floor, turning instead to his own claws. He licked his hands before wiping his face and then licking his hands again.

Sheppard realized he was cleaning himself. But the MRE had things in it that would have been more useful than licking, like a moist towelette, not to mention a spoon. Did that mean his Rodney was somehow... less than before? He tamped down the idea, ignoring the icy ball of dread that formed in his stomach. He wouldn't even allow himself to imagine it.

Sheppard stepped closer again. Rodney watched him, neck craned up. Sheppard leaned against the wall and slid down, sitting against the wall still out of arm's reach.

Rodney went back to poking at the contents of the MRE. He picked up a packet and hissed, tossing it back into the pile. He picked up another one and sliced it open with his claws. That purr came back as he bit down on the compressed bready brick, something pretending to be a 'toaster pastry'.

Sheppard scootched closer to Rodney and reached inside his tac vest. Rodney growled, mouth closed to keep any crumbs from escaping. Sheppard pulled his hand out of the vest to show the blue jell-o cup he held.

Rodney's eyes went wide, interested. He swallowed with difficulty, the pastry was rather dry. He looked between the pastry and the offered jell-o, finally dropping the pastry on the pile of MRE rubbish and snatching the jell-o cup. He peeled the foil back with more grace than his demeanor should have offered and began to lick the gelatin. That purr was back.

“I have more if you'd like,” Sheppard offered, sliding closer still.

Rodney paused mid-lick. He didn't growl but he went completely still and silent as he looked at Sheppard, saw how close he was, and finally seemed to relax. He reached into the pile of MRE detritus, pulling out the offending packet from earlier. He offered the packet of lemon drink powder to Sheppard.

“Hey, thanks buddy,” Sheppard said, forcing more joy into his voice than he felt. He was really growing worried, that this was what his Rodney would be reduced to. That maybe Roberts had been the sane one earlier. He looked down at the packet and sighed. Then he felt it. Rodney's face shoving against his arm like some sort of nuzzle.

Sheppard looked up, unable to hide the worried shock on his face. Rodney looked at him, head cocked. Then he turned his head back to the jell-o and tried to stick his face in the small plastic cup. He growled playfully as his tongue reached out to lick at all of the little wiggling fragments of tasty blue.

Sheppard tore open the lemon packet. He didn't have a canteen with him, he hadn't thought of bringing one. Instead he poured the powder directly into his mouth.

Rodney made a hissing hacking sound.

Sheppard looked over to see Rodney watching him with a disgusted look on his face.

“Oh, like you're one to talk,” Sheppard said, chewing on the powder as it sucked all the saliva from his mouth. He swallowed it with difficulty. “I used to do this all the time in the desert. Needed the sugar and the salt, didn't want to waste the water.”

Rodney sneezed.

“Right, you can probably smell it,” Sheppard realized. He folded over the half-empty lemon packet. “I don't have any water, you going to be okay?”

Rodney licked at his hands before wiping them across his nose over and over. He made faces, wiggling his nose and snorting. Eventually, however, he seemed to get better. Sheppard's hand stopped itching for the epi-pen he hadn't thought to bring. Instead he stowed the folded lemon packet in an empty pocket. “There, no more lemon.”

Rodney sniffed, wiping his nose. His breathing didn't sound bad but it wasn't ideal. Still, it didn't seem to be getting worse.

Sheppard offered Rodney a chocolate pudding cup as a silent apology.

Rodney purred even before he'd taken it, snatching it up and peeling the foil off. He licked the foil obscenely, purring as his eyes fell closed.

“You could use a spoon,” Sheppard suggested. “You do have one in there.”

Rodney gave him a look like he wasn't deigning to answer such an inane statement before he stuck his face in the small plastic cup, slurping and licking while he purred.

Sheppard sighed as he sat next to Rodney, his Rodney as the... man? creature? as Rodney busied himself with food items and ignored all rules of propriety, as he worked delicately with claws that had once threatened to rend flesh, as he growled and purred and snarled and made every sound except **words**...

“General Landry wants to recall me to the SGC for training,” Sheppard said.

He didn't expect Rodney to answer. Somehow he was still disappointed when he didn't.

“I know I need it,” Sheppard continued. “I admit that now. I should have been trained when Atlantis was on Earth and we had all that downtime. But I didn't insist, I didn't take the opportunity. And now I don't have much option.”

At least Rodney seemed to be listening. Sheppard could feel his attention on him. It still had the same weight now as it used to.

“But that means I'll be reassigned. My post will be taken over by someone else. I'm sure Caldwell's accepted by now. And when my training's over, if there's no post for me here, well...”

Rodney pulled the plastic pudding cup away from his face. Sheppard shuddered, wondering how Rodney could look so harmless and so much like a monster at the same time.

“At best I'll get to lead my own SG team,” Sheppard said. “At worst I'll be stuck under the mountain, doing light-switch duty or dealing with paperwork. I can never come home.”

Rodney murred questioningly. Sheppard felt a frisson of hope, that Rodney was still in there somewhere listening to him.

“They'll never let me come home, Rodney. I'll be trapped in the Milky Way. The wrong stars, the wrong gates, all of it. I'm not sure I can handle that.”

Rodney huffed.

“I know I deserve it,” Sheppard said, almost pleading. “I know I fucked up bad. I was wrong about you, about all of it. I'm... I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.”

Rodney licked the plastic cup clean and began on his hands, licking one long black claw at a time. Slowly, methodically, eyes on Sheppard the whole time.

“I... There's got to be a way I can stay here.”

Rodney blinked, his eyes growing unimpressed. Somehow his licking grew slower, almost luxurious. His claws gleamed in the dark, wet with saliva.

“Woolsey had an idea,” Sheppard admitted. “He and Lorne and, and you if you wanted, could handle the bulk of my training. It's all just classroom stuff, I can do it anywhere. We should probably go off rotation for awhile anyway while everyone decides what to do about, well, everything. Teyla and Kanaan, Ronon mentioned something about Sateda, there's you and your... transformation.” Sheppard prided himself with not looking too ill about Rodney's Change. From Rodney's expression that pride was somewhat misplaced.

Rodney licked his hands, laving his tongue between his fingers against taut webbing. He wiped his face before licking his claws again, cleaning pudding off of his face in a needlessly slow process.

“There's just one...” Sheppard took a deep breath. “Woolsey wants your permission. I hurt you most of all and he won't... He doesn't want you to have to deal with me if you don't want to. It's your call. Say the word and I'm gone and... and I'll never come back.”

Rodney cocked his head, looking like he was considering the idea. An Atlantis without Sheppard. Sheppard knew the city would get along without him, much better than he would get along without the city. Prison would have been easier, at least then the bars around him were solid. On Earth those bars would still be there, always there, always just out of reach. A cage of his own making.

“Please, Rodney.”

Rodney finished cleaning his face and licked all of the stray pudding from his claws. He sat with his hands on the floor before him like he was contemplating getting up onto all fours and padding off. His claws tapped the floor, sounding so much like snapping fingers preceding a ground-breaking idea.

Sheppard slumped against the wall. He sighed, dejected. Ronon was right, he'd fucked up. Lorne was right, he couldn't fix this. Woolsey was right, this wouldn't just be swept under a rug. They were all right and he was wrong. He'd done something unforgivable. He'd broken Rodney's trust so totally that there was no fixing it, no going back. He'd called him a monster to his face in front of the entire expedition and now everyone knew why. Sheppard hadn't given a single thought to what Rodney wanted, who should know, what his secrets even meant. Of course Rodney wouldn't forgive him. Sheppard wouldn't forgive himself in Rodney's shoes.

“Give me one good reason why I should.”

Sheppard sat up in shock. Rodney's voice was scratchy and strange but it was a voice, there were words! He could speak! Wait... “You, you, you led me to believe you couldn't say anything!” Sheppard accused.

Rodney leveled a low glare at him. “Why?” he asked. “What should I have to say to you? Fuck off? Thanks for outing me to the entire expedition you wretched human?”

Sheppard's heart began to fall again. But at least his Rodney was still here, still alive, still himself. “I'm glad you're all right,” Sheppard said, voice painfully hopeful.

“I wouldn't have thought you'd care,” Rodney said bitterly.

“I never wanted any of this to happen,” Sheppard said. “I, I just wanted to fix things and--”

Rodney snorted. “Yeah, 'fix' things. Real good there. How'd that work for you?”

“I was wrong,” Sheppard said.

“You think waltzing in here and admitting you're wrong means anything?” Rodney snapped. A snarl colored his words, turning them into something scratchy and dark. “You have no idea what you did! I can never go back to Earth! I will never hear the Mother's Song, I will never go home to my family's Nest, you caused this! When I Change here I will be alone. The only one of my kind. And I will either Sing the Mother's Song or I will go mad from the loneliness and die in the water. I hope you realize my Song will twist every single person here to this world just like that universe. You did that, Sheppard.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. “There's nothing you can do to stop it?” he asked, slow and quiet.

Rodney hissed, eyes shining in the half darkness. The image seemed to change in Sheppard's eyes, becoming the same iridescent creature from before. Sheppard tried to pull away but he couldn't. He caused this.

Then he remembered.

He hadn't brought a weapon but he wasn't unarmed. Rodney's death would be slow, he'd rip Sheppard apart with those claws, but he would die. They would both die here but Sheppard could at least save everyone else. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the half-empty packet of lemon drink powder. He unfolded the packet and...

Something inside his head felt like it was being crushed. He fell against the floor, hand losing grip on his only weapon. He felt the radio in his ear pulled away, gone, he couldn't even call for help. What... what was happening?

He could smell something unnatural, a combination of fish and frog and salt and something that had died on the side of a road. A heavy weight settled over him, holding him still.

“No,” Rodney said, a purr in the back of his voice. “I don't think you will.”

Sheppard's mind rebelled, he had to defend them all, he'd die in the process but it was no more than he deserved.

“You always did have a penchant for self-sacrifice,” Rodney purred. Sheppard could feel the rumble of that purr as Rodney laid on his chest, the vibrations spreading through his entire body. It felt wrong on the most primal of levels.

“But you can't go back now,” Rodney mused aloud. He traced claws through Sheppard's hair, petting him like he was the animal here. “You'll tell them about this. They'll want to kill me, to save their own expedition. But they'll find everyone here just like you, mine. They'll either send a nuke through the gate or just bar Atlantis from ever calling in again.”

Rodney chuckled, adding to the rumbling purr. He laid bodily on Sheppard, giving him something to focus on instead of the blinding pain in his mind.

“I... I thought you...” The words felt like great triumphs of will as Sheppard forced them out. “I thought you had to... to S-sing... to make me...”

Rodney purred deeper. He laid his head on Sheppard's chest, letting the man feel the rumble in his throat. “This **is** my Song,” he purred.

Sheppard's vision went dark and all he knew was the rumbling purr through his entire body.

*****

When he awoke he was in his bed and there was a voice nearby.

“There's a pile of trash in corridor C section 29, yes the dead end. No, it's not dangerous. Just go pick it up. Sheppard tried apologizing to me last night with a lot of little individually wrapped things and by the time we were done he wasn't really in a state to call it in. Look, just send some jarhead with a trash can, that's what they're for. Do it.”

Sheppard recognized that voice. He went still as he remembered last night. That was Rodney but Atlantis was still in danger. Sheppard was the only one who could stop it. He silently reached under his mattress to pull his emergency Glock, flicked the safety off, and turned on Rodney with pistol raised.

Cold blue eyes bored into his and his arm went limp, the gun falling to the bed next to his useless hand.

“I want it done, don't call me about this again. McKay out.” Rodney tapped his radio off and picked it out of his ear. He tossed it easily onto Sheppard's empty desk even as he bared his teeth in a triumphant grin, purr rumbling.

“How are you doing this?” Sheppard demanded.

“I can't **make** you do anything,” Rodney purred. He weaved from side to side like a fat snake dancing to music only he could hear. “I can only inspire you to do something you already want to. You don't want to kill me. Because then they'll make you leave. You'll have to go back. I'm your only way of staying here. But you know what'll happen then. Everyone here, dancing to my Song. Including you. Including Atlantis.”

“You're a monster,” Sheppard whispered.

“I am,” Rodney agreed. “But you know what'll happen eventually. Earth will decide the expedition is too much trouble or it's time to end or funding runs out or whatever. They'll come to take everyone back. They might let Atlantis sink, they might just destroy her, they might even have her fly into a sun. Anything to protect Earth. I'm her only way out.”

The tension left Sheppard's muscles as he stopped trying to resist.

“You know it, too. One day they'll come to steal everyone away. And they will find nothing. No us, no Nest, no Atlantis. Nothing for them to steal. That's what my Song offers and you know it. You **want** it.”

Sheppard sat on his own bed, head bowed as he tried to hate what Rodney said, as he tried to hold onto the fire that burned in him, told him to pick up the gun and finish this threat. He tried so hard...

“I'll keep you,” Rodney allowed. “You'll stop fighting me eventually. You'll even come to enjoy what I offer. Welcome home, John.”

Sheppard felt that fire... die.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sing the praises of pants. Wait, those aren't pants.

Teyla poked at the worm outside the door to Rodney's quarters. It was large, much larger than any worm of its type ought to be. It seemed to be made out of a gummy candy. The front half was red, the bottom half was blue. It was as long as two and a half of her feet and it smelled faintly like the red and blue jell-os in the mess hall.

It also had a large metal hook through its red end. A string led to the corner where a man in a silly hat held a pole. She arched an eyebrow at him. He shrank back out of sight and began reeling in his line. The giant gummy worm was dragged off away from Rodney's door.

That was better. She rang the crystals, hoping to gain entrance. She carried the items he'd requested and had brought something special with her in the hope that it would be of use.

The door opened. A strange stale salt smell wafted out of the open door like the scent of an animal's lair. “Rodney?” she called. “Are you in?”

A faint hissing sound came from the darkened room beyond.

“Oh, good,” Teyla said and entered the room.

The door closed ominously behind her.

Inside she strained her eyes against the gloom. “I have brought the items you requested,” she said as she laid them out on the bed. “It is unfortunate the Earth requisitions officer did not have a more familiar equivalent. I hope we can find something here that will suit you.”

Green eyeshine approached her from the shadows, first crouching low to the ground then standing unsteadily near her. She smiled at him, knowing he could see her in the dark. “You will feel better once we have found you some suitable clothing.”

“I'm sure.” The voice that came from the darkness was scratchier than even a few days before, like his throat was hoarse from exertion.

“You sound exhausted,” Teyla said, reaching for him. He didn't shy away from her touch as she ran delicate fingers over the side of his face and down his neck to the smooth scales of his shoulder. “The transformation has taken much out of you. Come, let us find you some clothing and I will escort you to the cafeteria. A warm meal will help you feel better and I am sure there are many who wish to see you out of seclusion.”

Rodney purred gently. “All right,” he agreed. “Let's see what you have.”

The first few items, pants and shirts and familiar pieces of clothing, didn't fit. Athosians didn't tend to get large like this, their semi-nomadic lifestyle and the strict allocation of communal resources kept it from happening. The Earth requisitions officer hadn't been able to offer much either, Rodney now being larger than some arbitrary maximum size. The lack of any real solution left Rodney huffing in his nest as Teyla held up the one garment she'd hoped he would wear.

“This one is special to me,” she said. “It was to be my gravi'nemorosus but I never had the chance to wear it.”

Rodney cocked his head at her. The words were Ancient but he thought he'd heard them wrong. He hoped he'd heard them wrong. “Why didn't you?” he asked.

“When the time came I could not,” Teyla said, stroking the soft fabric with a sad reverence. “I had been taken by Michael. When I was found the time had passed. I had no opportunity.”

He didn't hear them wrong. “I'm sorry.”

“It should be worn,” Teyla continued. “Each child should be veiled before they come into life. It is the last protection from the horrors of the Wraith a mother can offer. I could not veil Torren and he was forced to experience Michael's horrors same as I. Even though I could not veil him, it should be worn by a new mother to veil her child in their last months of innocence. To neglect it implies a lack of love for my son but I have not had the opportunity here on Atlantis. There are no new mothers here and my people have begun to question my fitness as a mother because of this.”

“Why me?” Rodney asked.

“You do not carry life, that is true. But you are shedding who you were in favor of who you will become. That in its own way is a new life. I would like you to wear it.”

“But what if you, um...” Rodney gestured toward her belly. “What if you get pregnant again?”

“Then I will wear this then,” she said. “Or I will make another one.”

“Are you sure?” Rodney asked.

Teyla answered by laying out the pregnancy veil on the floor. She gestured for Rodney to step into it. He sighed and nodded, doing so. He leaned on her as she lifted the garment up his body and tied it around his neck.

Soft fabric cascaded down from his shoulders, covering his front but leaving his back exposed. It wrapped around him loosely, comfortably around his waist before descending past his knees. It wasn't tight anywhere, it didn't constrict him, and it didn't make his scales itch. He moved in it, slowly writhing from side to side as he tried out the... dress. He wasn't sure he could call it a 'pregnancy veil' even in his own mind, that was just too weird.

“You are beautiful,” Teyla whispered. Her hands went to his exposed back, tracing the scales there. She slid her hands up to his neck and the single tie that held the entire dress on. “Should you wish to enter the water, this tie here will release the entire veil. It is meant to pool unhindered at your feet with a single pull of a string.”

“It might be better if it didn't fall off,” Rodney mused, running his hands along the soft fabric. He carefully kept his claws out of the way, not wanting to catch and tear anything.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” Teyla said. “Your scales have a delicate striped pattern that suits you. You cannot even claim modesty with your--”

“Can we not talk about my junk?” Rodney blurted, cutting her off. “It's gone internal. Done.”

“As you wish.”

Rodney thought the lights on. Both of them squinted in the sudden bright light as Rodney carefully balanced and walked over to a mirror.

It was a strange reflection. He had the feet and hands of a monster, all blue scales and long black claws. The easiest manner of walking he'd found involved letting his ankles bounce as he balanced on the balls of his feet like some sort of newborn big cat. The soft red-brown fabric called attention to the purple and iridescent green stripes that lurked in the patterns of his sea-blue dorsal scales. It also left those scales uncovered, revealing his inhumanity for all to see. But then, there was no hiding it now anyway.

It was also a dress. Some part of him wanted to decline simply on that principle but he couldn't, not when he saw the adoringly hopeful look in Teyla's eyes. He couldn't say no to that. “Thank you,” he said.

“You... you will wear it?”

“Yes.”

She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. He purred as she made happy noises and snuggled him. He could get used to that part.

*****

There were calls of strangeness from all through Atlantis's corridors.

Essentially, Rodney McKay had finally ended his self-imposed exile and there were reports of him in a dress coming from several sources. A couple of these sources included Teyla punching some marine who made a comment about it. Many other sources were merely thankful for the existence of pants in whatever form those pants may take. It was hard to disagree, not when there were rumors coming from the infirmary that Carson had threatened to introduce Rodney to the great kilt done in the traditional style.

Mr. Woolsey fingered the angular curves of the elder sign he kept in his desk. The entire expedition knew now. Even if Sheppard hadn't decimated McKay's secret in the mess hall those three days prior, there'd be no hiding it anymore. Not with McKay's claws. His talons. His oddly reptilian feet. The strange eyeshine glow of his eyes. Especially not the blue scales over much of his skin.

What to do about it?

The SGC had a standing policy of 'wait and see' when it came to potential Deep Ones on Atlantis. The IOA had no policy at all, no idea it was a thing. The NID on the other hand...

Woolsey did not consider himself an NID agent anymore. He'd never joined the ranks of Delta Green though he had been invited. He'd listened in on their lectures and read their files, even agreed with some of their ideas. And yet...

He dismissed the thought even as he traced the lines of his elder sign. Ideas like that were what allowed Sheppard's paranoia to poison him.

Woolsey heard the chime at his office door. “Come in,” he said. He put his elder sign back in the bottom desk drawer, closing it quietly.

Sheppard came in, letting the door fall closed behind him. “I wanted to discuss our agreement,” he said.

“It's not a guarantee,” Woolsey warned. “I received word the _George Hammond_ is on its way with General O'Neill on board.”

“General O'Neill? Why?”

Woolsey shrugged. “Unrelated reasons,” he said. To be honest, O'Neill had mentioned he was looking forward to Carter chasing down McKay and punching him repeatedly for hitting on her when he knew he wasn't human.

Sheppard nodded. “I see,” he said, though he didn't. “I'd... still like to stay on Atlantis. If I can.”

“I have no jurisdiction over that,” Woolsey warned. “You'll have to get Dr. McKay to vouch for you.”

“I believe I can get that,” Sheppard said wryly. “Unless I'm misinterpreting McKay's words.”

“Why? What did he say?”

Sheppard suddenly looked uncomfortable, a blush creeping up his neck. “'I'll keep you'. That's what he said.”

“That's all he said?” Woolsey asked, voice carefully neutral.

“Well, there was more, but that's the important part,” Sheppard said.

Woolsey did not like the cold feeling in his stomach. He tapped his radio. “Dr. McKay, please report to my office. Thank you.” Woolsey picked his radio from his ear and laid it on the desk before him before folding his hands over it. “Colonel, this may seem like an odd question but... do you believe Dr. McKay can Sing?”

“Sing, sir?” Sheppard asked. “What kind of singing?”

Woolsey stared right into Sheppard's eyes, noted how they shifted uncomfortably. That fact did not fill him with confidence. “Can he Sing?”

Sheppard took a deep breath. He opened his mouth to answer and...

The door opened behind them. “What is it?” Rodney demanded.

Woolsey's attention turned on McKay. He missed the way Sheppard tensed in Rodney's presence, the overwhelming need to do something held back by an outside force. Instead he saw the vivid blue scales pattered with reflections from this world's aurorae, the long black claws that could no longer be hidden, the sharpness to his teeth and the paleness to his face. “We were just talking about you,” Woolsey said.

McKay huffed. “If this is about what I'm wearing, take it up with Teyla,” he grumbled. “It's some Athosian thing she wasn't able to do when she was pregnant so someone has to do it for her and Kanaan's been talking about taking Torren and raising him 'right' because she couldn't find anyone. Besides, I wouldn't have to wear her pregnancy dress if anyone in this entire city stocked decent sized pants.”

“I assure you, Dr. McKay, the SGC has been informed of your need for 'decent sized pants',” Woolsey said, deadpanned. He would have to ask Teyla about the situation. Perhaps there was a way to satisfy her cultural requirements that didn't involve putting Dr. McKay in a backless dress that looked like it would fall off with one unfortunate knot-malfunction.

“Oh, good,” Rodney said.

“This is about Sheppard,” Woolsey continued. “Are you sure about this? It would be easy enough for him to return to Earth on the _George Hammond_.”

“Wait, Sam's coming?” McKay asked, worried. “Shit, she doesn't know! I'll have to...” He deflated, air rushing out of him in an annoyed sigh. “I bet she knows already and she's coming to laugh at me.”

“She's not coming to laugh at you,” Woolsey said. He was fairly sure she was coming to hit him repeatedly, laughing would not be involved until after.

Rodney twisted around, trying to look at the scales on his own back. “These don't look like bug scales, do they? Or Wraith scales?”

“They look more like dragon scales,” Sheppard said.

Rodney smiled. “Dragon scales,” he said. “I like that. I'd need a tail, though.” He looked thoughtful, a low purr starting in his throat.

Woolsey sat back as a feeling of wrongness overcame him. He watched Sheppard lean away as well before the Colonel seemed to relax into the sound. The cold in his stomach came back with a vengeance. “So you'll keep him,” Woolsey said.

Rodney glanced at Sheppard, a faintly accusing look. Sheppard merely shrugged, still relaxed. Rodney then turned to Woolsey. “Yes,” he purred. “I'll keep him. He'll stay here. The SGC can send their materials here, we'll make sure he's trained.”

“I'll see what I can do,” Woolsey said. There wasn't much else he could say though he wanted to. And where had that thought come from? “It'll be General O'Neill's decision.”

Rodney made a face, disliking the idea.

“He'll be here on the _Hammond_ , they'll be here in two weeks. You have until then to come up with a plan.”

“Yes, sir,” Sheppard said, less formally than Woolsey would have liked.

Rodney tapped his claws together, thinking, purring. He grabbed Sheppard and dragged him out of the office.

Woolsey sank back into his seat. Something about that exchange had been strange, a wrongness on the edge of his mind. He opened his desk drawer but the elder sign didn't seem so comforting anymore. He reached for the bottle of moonshine instead.

*****

“Yes?”

The door to Lorne's apartment opened to reveal two people he did not expect to see. Lorne nodded as Colonel Sheppard and Dr. McKay stood in the hallway outside his door.

Lorne put down the brushes he was cleaning, laying out the large one to dry and standing the smaller ones in a glass of cleaner to soak. “Come in,” he said.

Rodney purred, the sound sent an odd frisson of something up Lorne's spine. He noted it and watched as man and monster came in and made themselves comfortable. The door closed behind them.

“So here's the thing,” Rodney began, a light purr in the back of his voice. “Sheppard needs SGC training. Landry thinks that's best done under the mountain. I disagree. If they take him from us, from Atlantis, they won't let him come back. Someone will take his place and they won't want to leave. It'll be a whole big... messssss...”

Lorne shuddered at the tone of Rodney's voice at that word. He hissed it out, extending it into something more than just a word. Lorne focused his attention on Rodney, trying to listen to what he wasn't saying.

“Woolsey has admitted there might be a solution,” Rodney continued, still purring. “If he can get the SGC to send their training material we could train him here. I ask you because you're in charge of that for the others. You have to be an expert in their training and methods. You know what you're doing. I've... already expressed my... willingness to keep him here... all I need is for you... to agree...”

“Stop it,” Lorne snapped.

The purring stopped dead. Rodney looked shocked, claws splayed and eyes wide. Sheppard looked carefully neutral. Lorne felt a pressure behind his eyes leave, one he hadn't wanted to admit was there.

“How did you do that?” Rodney asked, letting his purr slip back into his voice.

Lorne felt the pressure return. He shook his head, reached into his nightstand, and pulled his emergency pistol.

The purring stopped again. “Fuck,” Rodney said. His voice was scratchy, tired, it sounded overused.

“You **are** doing this,” Lorne realized. He sat on his bed, the pistol on his lap. “All right, talk. And if you make that noise again I will defend myself. What's going on? How are you doing that?”

“How is he-- how did you do that?” Sheppard demanded. “I tried to kill him twice and he laid me flat each time!”

“Really now,” Lorne said. “Interesting.”

“Not helping,” Rodney said, glaring at Sheppard.

Sheppard merely grinned. Lorne got the feeling he was the weapon in Sheppard's third attempt.

“I'll start,” Lorne said, sounding so helpful. “Subsurface, low-level mind control has a distinct headache to it. It starts as a minor pressure behind the eyes, the prefrontal cortex. If allowed it spreads to the entire frontal lobe and it feels like the brain is being crushed. It's the mind's way of informing the person their will is being messed with.

“When faced with that headache, we're supposed to determine what part of our situation has changed. In this case, Dr. McKay, you were the most likely source. I tested that by confronting you. As soon as that sound stopped the headache stopped. Then you made the same mistake everyone makes. You tried again. It confirmed my suspicion. You... were trying to mind control me. How and why?”

Rodney sighed, visibly deflating. He picked at his claws, traced the scales on his hands and how they ran up his arms. “There are Deep One Nests all over Earth,” he said. “Vast cities like Y'ha-nthlei to tiny clusters on forgotten atolls. But they're all the same in one important way, they're all run by a breeding pair. Father Dagon protects the Nest, that's what he does. Humans make a big deal out of that for some reason. Mother Hydra is the one who Sings the Mother's Song, calling all her wayward children home.

“Mother's Song is the key to any successful Nest. Deep Ones go mad if they can't hear it, if they can't hear her. Without her Song we'd all devolve into mindless monsters throwing ourselves into rocks or dragging fishermen off their boats or, or, I dunno...”

“Did you know this before?” Lorne asked. “Before joining the expedition?”

“No,” Rodney admitted. “I didn't know until a few weeks ago. When we were on that other world. Their me had Changed years ago, he Sang the Mother's Song and used it to twist the humans of Atlantis into creatures who could survive that awful world.”

“Turned them into monsters,” Sheppard said.

“Saved their lives!” Rodney protested. “You felt every breath searing you from the inside out! That place was poison and acid and darkness and pain and there was no escape! I Sang there to end that pain and it worked. They were cut completely off from Earth, no way out, how would you react to a life of agony? Their Rodney saved their sanity if not their lives.”

“Okay, great, let's talk about this universe,” Lorne said. “Deep One Song changes humans. How?”

Rodney shrugged. “It's been changing humans since they were little monkeys entranced by pretty water. You're not the end-all of evolution.”

“All right, so let's back up,” Lorne said. “A lone Deep One will go mad if they can't hear the Mother's Song. What does that mean for you?”

Rodney started to purr. He stopped as he saw Lorne's hand reach for the gun. He sighed instead. “I already Sing her Song,” he said. “It means every Deep One and hybrid within hearing distance will come to me and see me as the Mother Hydra of this Nest.”

“And if there are none?”

“Then I'll Sing anyway,” Rodney said. “If I don't I'll die. I'll swim full-speed into an ice shelf until either it breaks or I do. If that doesn't work I'm sure there are giant squid I could throw myself at.”

“You've thought that out,” Sheppard realized.

“Hello? Genius here! I can't help it.”

“And what does that mean for us?” Lorne asked.

Rodney looked so much like he wanted to purr. Instead he leaned back and stretched luxuriously. It looked strange in the dress he still wore. “It's already happening,” Rodney said, grinning easily. “You've gained, what, seven pounds since I got back from the Wraith? It's not muscle, either, nor is it on your belly. It's on your arms and thighs. I bet it makes pants uncomfortable.”

Lorne shifted on the bed. He **had** noticed his BDUs were tight around the thighs. It made them difficult to spar in.

“It's happening to everyone,” Rodney continued. “Everyone from Earth is affected. Even Teyla noticed, she calls it a 'softness of form', which is a somewhat nice way of saying people are getting fat, I guess.”

“And if we go back to Earth?” Lorne asked. “If your Song stops?”

“It depends on how affected a person is,” Rodney admitted. “Most people here would feel something missing in their lives, they might disappear to the sea coast trying to find it again. Someone like Sheppard, well, I had to do a number on him, if he goes back to Earth he'll go insane and I expect the SGC will roll a nuke right through our stargate for it.”

“I hate you,” Sheppard grumbled.

“I know,” Rodney said happily. His claws grasped contentedly at nothing.

“So what now?” Lorne asked. His hands had moved away from his gun.

“I can't mind control anyone into doing what they don't want to do,” Rodney admitted. “I can just make what they want to do seem like the better option.”

“Oh fuck that,” Sheppard said.

“It's true,” Rodney said. “You never wanted to kill me. You just felt you had to out of some human loyalty. You don't really want to end up dead or go to prison or get locked in a padded room. You want things to be like they were. And that means not killing me.”

Lorne watched carefully. There was none of the sound associated with his headache from before. This seemed like a deeper control, something built on twisted trust and horrible friendship. He saw no way to save Sheppard from his fate.

He saw no way to save himself. Or anyone. Not without killing McKay. But then... was what he offered really so terrible?

There were already signs among the marines. Earlier that day Lorne had fielded a request to build a sauna for 'medical reasons', as a way for the men to deal with low level hypothermia on their own instead of going to Beckett for a lecture and a prescription for a hot bath. Getting the wood for it would involve some creative trading but reducing Beckett's non-emergency workload would be worth it...

“It's not my decision anymore,” Lorne admitted. “I don't have the ability to decide what to do here. None of us do. We're all compromised.”

“The _George Hammond_ is two weeks out,” Sheppard said. “Carter and O'Neill are on board.”

“I'll draft a report,” Lorne said. “I... can't recommend anything, not if I'm already compromised. It's O'Neill's decision.”

“Great, the whole thing rests on the judgment of General O'Neill,” Rodney grumbled. “As if he didn't hate me enough.”

“Well, you did almost kill Teal'c,” Lorne said.

“I maintain they didn't give me all the important information,” Rodney snapped. “If I had known they had a real DHD in storage I would have given different answers. But noooo, somehow it's still my fault they didn't tell me everything. What was I supposed to do, read minds? I couldn't do it then and I shouldn't have been expected to. If they weren't going to give me all the information I needed to do my job then they shouldn't have asked me in the first place!”

Lorne tuned out the rant. It was a typical McKay rant about how he'd been wrong because he hadn't been given all the relevant information, therefore he wasn't really wrong. It was familiar, normal, there wasn't a trace of Song in it. There was pacing, however, with skirts swishing and Sheppard trying not to laugh.

That gave Lorne some hope.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weirdness takes many forms. O'Neill didn't expect these.

The gateroom was full of activity. Technicians and scientists all spoke over radios as instructions were given back and forth like Atlantis was a spaceport rather than a city. The _George Hammond_ was in orbit waiting for a landing confirmation. Atlantis was unable to give one at the moment, an issue with the local snowstorm blowing fat flakes across the landing piers.

Major Lorne stood watching the entire exchange. He couldn't hear the _Hammond's_ side of the discussion but he could imagine it.

“Major, a word.”

Lorne looked over to see Mr. Woolsey looking strangely grim. Lorne nodded and followed the man to his office.

The door muffled the sounds from the gateroom floor. Woolsey's expression grew almost dour. “Major, can you tell me why I had to learn about the current issues with Deep One Song from Colonel Carter?” he asked.

“Sir?” Lorne didn't know what Woolsey was talking about... and then he did. He shook his head trying to clear away the near constant pressure behind his eyes. “I'm sorry, sir, I felt it necessary for the General to know about the situation. I didn't...”

“You didn't think I needed to know?” Woolsey asked.

“It didn't occur to me,” Lorne admitted. “If I could have...” He let himself fall into one of the seats before Woolsey's desk. “I know I'm affected by it. I can feel it twisting my thoughts even now, making me do things I want to instead of what I have to. It's a poor excuse but...”

Woolsey sighed. He opened his desk drawer and pulled out the nearly empty bottle. He passed it over to Lorne who took a long swig.

“He's been in the water again,” Woolsey realized. “That has to be it. He's getting bold, letting his Song affect people openly.”

“I'm not sure he has control over it,” Lorne said. “He might not know what he's doing.”

Woolsey laughed darkly. “When has Dr. McKay not known what he was doing?”

Lorne had to concede the point.

“We're all showing physical changes. Many members of this expedition have expressed concern over strange dreams. It's affecting how Atlantis interacts with the ATA-active. Major, you mentioned Colonel Sheppard tried to put a stop to this twice and failed.”

“At least twice,” Lorne said. “There may have been others. I don't know anymore.”

Woolsey looked into the open desk drawer at the elder sign within. He'd never been unnerved by its angled curves and twisting lines before. “None of us are unaffected,” he whispered.

“That's why I sent the report to General O'Neill,” Lorne said. “I tried to get it written before I was too compromised. I hope it...”

“It was fine,” Woolsey said. “It covered all the pertinent information. The question is will General O'Neill take it seriously.”

Lorne looked at his hands. They still looked human, but then it had only been two weeks since McKay revealed himself to be an utter monster. It wasn't enough time for any obvious changes to take place.

Most of the expedition still didn't know about that part. They knew McKay was a Deep One, they knew Teyla would punish whoever made fun of his dress, they knew Airman Roberts was due for a beating by Major Teldy for catching Dr. Porter with a giant gummy worm on a fishing pole. They knew Sheppard was in some sort of trouble and that General O'Neill was here to deal with it.

They knew they'd all gained weight and the local squid tasted more delicious every day.

Woolsey wondered who else knew how deep it all went. Nobody in the sciences was willing to admit to anything, not even after McKay was found laying in a nest in an abandoned lab at the base of the central spire with Drs. Zelenka, Simpson, and Kusanagi, none of them clothed. The fact that they'd all been working just made the situation worse. Carson's only admission was giving Airman Roberts fishing tips, including the best types of bait for catching the wild McKay. Only Colonel Sheppard and Major Lorne admitted to direct experience with the horrible truth and their admissions were only in private.

There'd been talk of building a sauna under the west pier. Indoor water treatment storage was being considered for swimming facilities. Requisitions had complained of increasing pants sizes all over the city. Marines were spotted running outside without shirts despite the snow.

This city had changed and he could only hope no one else knew why.

“What do we do?” Lorne asked.

“That's up to General O'Neill now,” Woolsey said.

*****

“These are some of the pudgiest marines I've seen in a while,” O'Neill mused.

“Please tell me you read Lorne's report,” Carter said.

“I gave it to you so I wouldn't have to read it.”

Carter made a face. The _George Hammond_ had finally been given clearance to land and they were allowed to disembark. Several of Carter's crew were still out on the pier busying themselves with important tasks like 'air friction dynamics of snow projectiles' or 'symbolic constructions using transient materials'. O'Neill had glazed over when told about these projects, she'd had to translate 'snowball fights' and 'building snowmen' back into English for him. While her crew were out there goofing off she was here in Atlantis while O'Neill pretended to do an inspection.

“Did it say why the marines are getting soft?” O'Neill asked.

Carter snorted. “Say it louder, sir, I don't think they heard you.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes, sir, it did,” she said. “And it said why McKay's in a dress, why bringing Sheppard home for training is a bad idea, and why we shouldn't stay here past sunset.”

Now it was O'Neill's turn to snort. “McKay in a... well... I **was** promised entertainment.”

“I'll hunt him down later,” Carter promised. “Unless we run into him first.”

“Fair enough.”

The marines weren't the only ones who seemed to have gained weight, at least not according to the angry requisitions officer who chased them down. Pants seemed to be a common topic of contention here, pants and what substitutions could be counted as pants. O'Neill pretended to be interested, same as with all the other business that was brought to him during their preliminary walkthrough. There were requests for more coffee and chocolate, warmer clothes, larger pants, wood boards and slats for constructing a sauna of all things, better food, aside from the oddness it was fairly normal.

At least until a man in a fishing hat and vest ran up behind them. “General, great it's you, maybe she won't hurt me if she sees me talking to you.”

Carter shrugged her shoulders at O'Neill's questioning look. O'Neill would rather have passed this off as more of Atlantis's native weirdness but Carter had to ask. “What did you do?” she asked.

Airman Roberts tried to maneuver so General O'Neill was between him and any long range line of sight. “I've been fishing for the wild McKay, you see, and--”

“Stop right there,” O'Neill said. “Why were you fishing for a scientist?”

“Surely you know,” Roberts said. “Anyway, I started with the sure-thing baits. Small chocolate bars, individual packets of instant coffee, you know. Had some decent luck there, I caught a few scientists and Dr. Robinson. But no McKay. So I switched to the more selective bait.”

“Empty ZPMs?” Carter asked, enjoying being in on the joke.

“Nah, too heavy. MREs. Everyone knows the wild McKay will hunt MREs when he's hungry, especially the rare 'decent' MREs. Unfortunately he kept stealing them off my hook. He'd stab one claw through the eyelet of my hook and take his sweet-ass time stealing my bait and there wasn't a thing I could do about it. I ran out of MREs so I moved on to my secret weapon.”

O'Neill found himself leaning against a wall as he listened. Regardless of how weird this all was, it was still a fishing story. He could appreciate fishing stories. He could appreciate it more if he had a beer, though.

“I used a giant gummy worm.”

Carter snorted.

Roberts held up his hands in the classic 'it was this big' liar's pose. “And I mean a **giant** gummy worm. Thing is this big. Tough to cast but I figured if anything would hook me the wild McKay it'd be that.”

“And let me guess,” Carter said.

“I caught Dr. Porter,” Roberts agreed.

O'Neill had a blank look.

“Major Teldy's team geek,” Carter said.

O'Neill's face quickly turned into a sympathetic grimace.

“And now she's after me,” Roberts said, glancing back and forth. “I mean, I threw her back, I don't keep them, but she's still...” He made an eep sound as Major Teldy rounded a corner, saw him, and cracked her knuckles. Roberts threw a quick salute to O'Neill and tore off running.

O'Neill watched as Major Teldy ran after him, chasing him down the corridor and around the corner out of sight. “All right, I give up,” he said. “What was in that report?”

*****

McKay was a Deep One hybrid.

O'Neill already knew that part. The SGC had a 'wait and see' policy on McKay and his... genetic eccentricity. Unfortunately, this situation appeared to be what they were waiting for and they had not planned on this.

He'd begun adapting to this world, which explained the dress and the orders for larger pants.

He'd begun to Sing like their Mother Hydra, whatever that meant. All that Major Lorne knew was that McKay needed to hear this Song or he'd go insane. Unfortunately, this Song also affected humans descended of Earth, which meant everyone except the Pegasus natives. These 'affects' included low level suggestions, physical alterations, a mild addition to the Song itself, and there was proof of targeted mid-level mind control at work here.

Colonel Sheppard had attempted to put a stop to McKay's menace, admitting to two separate attempts. Both were ended by Sheppard being mind controlled into not going through with the acts.

Lorne was insistent the mind control couldn't be considered high-level control. All McKay could do was make what a person wanted to do seem like a better idea than what they needed to do. Lorne offered the report itself as proof, citing how he didn't want to have to be the one to make the decision, therefore passing the buck onto O'Neill seemed like a wonderful idea.

There was a note at the end of the report, that McKay had begun to Sing at the base of the central spire. This was important because it allowed Atlantis to pick up the Song and repeat it throughout the city, amplifying its effects in the ATA-active. Lorne's report got less coherent here, reporting how Atlantis liked the Song and liked Singing it, she didn't like it when people ignored her, she liked the idea of adapting people so they could live here, she liked adapting too, this was a nice planet and she wanted to stay here, she wanted to keep her people safe and here and perfect.

O'Neill shuddered at that part of the report. He'd felt the constant poking and prodding of his own ATA gene, like the city wanted to tell him something.

He'd thought of retiring here once. Now, not so much.

*****

O'Neill would have expected this meeting to take place in an office somewhere, maybe Woolsey's conference room with the big mahogany table that had collected a dozen coffee stains within its first three days. He hadn't expected it to be here, in public, in the mess hall. The table currently held himself, Sheppard, Lorne, and Woolsey. Sam was weirding him out by getting her second tray. She never ate this much...

“So where's the main offense?” O'Neill asked.

Sheppard snorted.

“Hiding from her,” Woolsey said, pointing to Carter as she returned with a tray loaded with spiced tubers, sweetroot pie, a cut of some animal in ruus berry sauce, and an actual pile of squid tentacles. She sat down next to O'Neill.

“You have **got** to try the squid,” Carter said, picking up a tentacle and waving it at him.

“They're intelligent,” O'Neill protested.

“So are pigs, I don't see you turning down bacon,” Carter said before taking a bite of the tentacle. Her eyes closed and she groaned as she chewed.

Woolsey looked pointedly at Lorne and Sheppard. The two military men grumbled, swearing under their breath as they laid their losses on the table. Woolsey swept up the chocolate bar, three dollar bills, and a package of dinner mints.

“What's the bet?” Carter asked.

“We disagreed on which of the two of you would be affected by McKay's Song first,” Woolsey said as he counted his winnings. He glanced at Sheppard and pointed to the table. Sheppard growled and slammed a piece of folded paper on the table. Woolsey picked it up, unfolded it, read it, then folded it back up and put it in his pocket with the rest of his winnings. “Thank you, Colonel.”

Sheppard 'hmmf'ed.

“We thought it would be you, sir,” Lorne admitted. “You are ATA-positive and the Song affects gene carriers harder than non.”

“How do you know I'm affected?” Carter asked between bites of a spiced and oiled tuber that looked like a bright purple potato.

Everyone at the table just looked at her.

“What?” she asked.

“And you thought it would be her,” O'Neill said. “Why?”

Woolsey looked nervous. He took an obvious breath. “General, this is a delicate question. Are you sure she's human?”

“Yes?” O'Neill phrased his word as a question and a warning.

“What do you mean?” Carter asked.

“Most research has been done on the Innsmouth hybrids,” Woolsey said. “Because of the raids, as you can imagine, they have reasons for their so-called 'defining characteristics'. Arrogant because they are smarter than we are and they know it. Petty because so many of their advancements have been stolen from them so they will grab hold of any recognition they can. Bad with people because they know just how different they are from us. Dr. McKay grew up knowing what he was. But someone who didn't would show different characteristics. The same advanced intelligence due to non-human thought patterns but with a tenacity that comes from having to constantly prove themselves. Basic people skills because there was never a reason to doubt one's humanity. A need to work within a team because Deep Ones are inherently empathetic and communal. And of course the physical characteristics.”

“Stop it,” O'Neill warned.

“Yes, stop it,” Lorne warned. “If McKay finds out about this he will never let it go.”

“You stop it too,” O'Neill growled. “All of you.”

“I... should go find McKay,” Carter said. She got up and left the mess hall in a hurry, leaving her tray behind.

“Punch him for me,” O'Neill called after her.

Woolsey reached over to Carter's abandoned tray. He pulled out a squid tentacle with his bare fingers. “You really should try the squid, General,” he said. “It is excellent.” He licked some mashed tuttleroot off the meat then took a bite.

“I'm going after her,” O'Neill said then left just as quickly.

“Did you have to?” Sheppard asked.

“If it's true? Yes.” Woolsey tore the end off the tentacle with his teeth. “If she's a hybrid, even if she doesn't know it, McKay's Song will hit her hard. He will be Mother Hydra to her and I have no idea what will happen.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sing a little Song for me.

Sam Carter stalked the halls of Atlantis. She put Woolsey's disturbing words out of her mind. She'd always been human, mostly, at least she was human when she wasn't a robot or the gate hadn't malfunctioned or aliens weren't involved. There'd never been a reason for her to believe otherwise.

But then she'd had no reason to doubt McKay's humanity, either. Not until she was read into Project Covenant two weeks ago.

She shook the thought from her mind. There were more important things to think about. Like that amazing sound she could hear on the edge of her consciousness. The very walls thrummed with it.

*****

Jack O'Neill followed Sam at enough of a distance that he felt he could get away with it. She didn't seem to notice him anyway, too preoccupied with whatever she was thinking as she ran her fingers along the walls like they spoke to her.

He read her into Project Covenant only two weeks ago. He'd watched the emotions cross her face, the wonder, the horror, the nausea, the disbelief, the cold realization as she listened to the atrocities committed 80 years ago, as she heard what was still being done today. McKay was one such project, invited into Area 51 for his second PhD on the theoretical workings of the extra dimensions of String Theory and their applications to the flaws in the Standard Model. McKay had no idea then that he'd puzzled out the practical workings of a stable hyperspace window without even knowing the Asgard existed. Then once the NID got wind of his inhumanity...

McKay had been the subject of experimental study for nearly all the years he worked in Area 51. It was why he'd been accepted back with open arms and a firm tug on the leash those times when he was on Earth. It was why he'd been volunteered for the Atlantis Expedition in the first place. The data they'd gained from observing a hybrid without its knowledge both in and out of its natural environment, without the Mother's Song to keep it stable...

Maybe if he were less dense or at all personable or more observant he would have realized he was being studied. But that charade was over now. McKay's secret was out and the experiment had changed.

*****

Sam reached a transporter. There was something in the base of the central spire that drew her, that called to her. She knew what it was, McKay's weirdness was why she was here. That and punching him for hitting on her when he knew he wasn't human. That part, at least, had been Jack's idea. Sam's plan was to smack him around a bit then call him a dork. He hadn't tried anything for years so she didn't really begrudge him anymore.

Had he even known he'd been studied all this time? That his every move was watched and scrutinized and exploited? She couldn't imagine not knowing. But then, she couldn't imagine acting at all civil while knowing. Maybe that was why he could be so impossible to work with. Both possibilities were horrible prospects.

Like the idea of her own humanity. She thought she was human but what if she wasn't? Would she have ever had cause to discover the truth on her own? Would scales and claws have been her first clue? And shouldn't there have been some sign by now? What if there was and the SGC was keeping it from her?

She tapped the transporter's display and the corridor changed. When the door opened she shuddered and had to lean against a wall.

The air itself vibrated with sound and it was beautiful.

*****

Wouldn't the SGC have known if she wasn't human? They knew about McKay, wouldn't they know what to look for?

That was O'Neill's main thought as Sam disappeared into the transporter. The SGC would have known, would have told him or done something. Right?

It wasn't her father, it couldn't be. Of course, the Tok'ra weren't exactly forthcoming about their secrets and Jacob Carter had turned in his own 'humanity' card when he accepted Selmak. Sam's mother, perhaps. She'd died in a car accident when Sam was a child, maybe even before her transformation had begun.

Jack tried to ignore the thoughts that came unbidden. It wasn't true, thinking about it wasn't going to change that.

He tapped his radio to call up the gateroom. “General O'Neill,” he said, identifying himself. “Hey, could I get a trace on a transporter?”

*****

Sam could feel the Song all through her. It tingled in her bones, rumbled in her lungs, danced along her skin, forced a noise from her throat as she tried to take up the sound and Sing it back. It didn't sound right when she tried, instead it created a dissonance that poisoned the Song. She stopped trying to Sing, falling quiet as she felt her way through the darkened corridors, trying to find the source of that beautiful terrible Song.

And there it was.

“Rodney?” she asked.

She shuddered as the Song stopped, as he turned to her with eyes wide and claws splayed. “I...” he said. “Sam, I...”

“Keep Singing,” she whispered. “Please.”

Rodney watched warily as she approached him, as she stepped into the disused lab he'd found at the base of the central tower. He knew he looked completely inhuman with black claws and blue scales, still wearing the dress Teyla had loaned him weeks before. It'd picked up a funk of its own no matter how often he had it washed and...

And Sam didn't seem to notice or care as she grabbed his wrists and laid his arms over her shoulders. Her own hands reached over to untie the dress, letting it pool at his feet. Rodney murred, unsure and uncomfortable, until Sam wrapped her arms around him and pressed herself against him.

“Sing to me,” she whispered as she nuzzled his neck. He did.

*****

O'Neill didn't want to believe it. The others all insisted Sam would be at the base of the central spire where McKay was Singing his twisted Deep One Song. He didn't want to find her there because he didn't want it to be true.

If it was true then he never really knew her. He should have known. Even if she didn't know, he should have. He knew his own team better than he knew himself. They'd been on SG-1 together for years, she helped put together the SGC itself and the workings of the entire program. She had to be human.

But what if she wasn't?

O'Neill could hear it now: Homeworld Security calling Sam's loyalty into question, demanding to know the ulterior motives behind every action she'd ever taken, insisting the _Hammond_ be taken from her in case she couldn't be trusted. The whispers, the questions, the rumors. The SGC could preach and demand all it wanted but they couldn't change the nature of human politics or the necessity of human funding.

Besides, she wasn't here in Pegasus the way McKay was. It was easier for the SGC to ignore him out here, 3 million light years away where he couldn't annoy anyone without their permission or an extended trip on the _Daedalus_. Miracles could happen here, scientific breakthroughs that changed the universe as they knew it, and it could all be done here where nobody on Earth had to deal with him, listen to him, or even give him due credit.

These thoughts came unbidden as O'Neill followed Sheppard, Lorne, and Teyla to the base of the central spire. The rooms down here were cleared then left abandoned, all of them allowed to develop a staleness from disuse, a stench from repeated flooding. It stank of rotting salt, standing water, and a cold smell that might have been ice.

“Shh,” Lorne said, gesturing them forward.

O'Neill could hear the rumble in the walls here, a constant tone that set his teeth on edge and put a pressure behind his eyes. He rubbed his temples, trying to ward off the feeling of unwanted mental contact. He wouldn't listen to it, he wouldn't allow it to cloud his thoughts or alter his wants. He would prevail against it.

And then they rounded a corner to find an open lab.

All attempt to resist collapsed at the scene before him.

It... was all true.

Sam was here and her illusion of humanity was discarded as thoroughly as her clothes. Pieces of her uniform were tossed around the room, unimportant traces of fabric. Instead she lay next to the creature that had once been Dr. McKay, his claws roaming all over her as he nuzzled and purred and she nuzzled back. Her hands looked so wrong against blue scales and pale white belly, almost as wrong as the soft hisses she made when the monster licked the back of her neck with long luxurious strokes of his tongue.

And then she looked at him and she had the audacity to blush.

“Hmm?” McKay looked up to see they had an audience and he hissed at them.

Sam reached back and shoved her hand into his face, pushing him away. She giggled as he hissed at her then pretended not to care as he stretched and purred. She watched him as he tried to seduce her with his nonchalance; it didn't work. “Smooth, McKay,” she said.

“If you're done,” Sheppard drawled. “O'Neill needs to get a good freak-out on then we'll see if he decides to nuke us all for this.”

“He'd better not,” Sam snarled. She shoved McKay's claws off of her where he was sliding his hands up her legs. “Rodney, get off me.” She got to her feet and started finding her clothes.

She donned her uniform like a disguise, a human mask that hid everything from view. But O'Neill had seen behind the mask, he now knew the potential that lurked beneath. She may not have Changed yet but she was a hybrid all the same.

“No one can know,” O'Neill said.

“What, sir?” Lorne asked.

“No one can know,” O'Neill said again. “About Sam. Politics and the _Hammond_ and, and everything.”

“Oh, so it's okay for me to be a monster but as soon as your precious Colonel Carter's affected it has to be a secret?” Rodney demanded.

“Rodney, shut up,” Sheppard said.

“How pissed were you when Sheppard outed you to everyone?” Lorne asked.

Rodney stopped in mid-breath, ready to begin a long and snarling rant. It fell flat as he realized Lorne was right. “Okay, point,” he grumbled.

Sam ran a hand along his scales from the nape of his neck down. He arched back and purred. “I don't have to tell anyone,” she said. “There's not a whole lot of water in space.”

Rodney slowly writhed back and forth, purring. He wanted her to stay. He wanted it so much. But his Song didn't work that way. Not unless she wanted it too.

*****

O'Neill kept his temper in check the whole time. All while Woolsey and Lorne were discussing changes in policy to account for the added complications from Deep One Song. While McKay kept trying to put his paws on Carter and she rebuffed him as though that scene in the lab hadn't even happened. While Sheppard kept McKay distracted with friendly insults and in general treated that monster like it was still human.

He even kept his temper as the planet's sun began to set and Lorne insisted policy changes begin immediately with the _Hammond's_ crew returning to the ship and locking the doors behind them.

He kept that temper until everyone was on board and the engines rumbled in confusion, the engineering crew unsure if they'd be lifting off. Until he could get Carter into the commander's cabin. Alone.

He was furious. There she stood, hair in disarray, still reeking of stale salt and unnatural fishiness, her uniform wrinkled in all the wrong places, her big blue eyes half-lidded with some languidness that O'Neill refused to admit was due to the Song. “Why aren't you disturbed?” he demanded.

“Should I be?” she asked.

Jack didn't know what was worse, the fact that she asked or the fact that it sounded like a legitimate question. “Yes!” he shouted. “You should be freaking out! Or did you know this? Tell me you didn't know you're a hybrid and never deigned to tell me.”

“I didn't know,” Sam said, voice loud and level. “I swear to you, Jack, I didn't know. If I had of course I would have told you! You'd have been the first to know!”

“Then why wasn't I?” Jack demanded. “Dammit, Sam, they were betting on your humanity! Woolsey knew about you!”

“Maybe he knew because it's his job to know,” Sam snapped. “He was with the NID, they were responsible for watching Rodney, don't you dare tell me they didn't pick up some clues. I'll be lucky if the rest of the NID doesn't already know about this!”

Jack slumped heavily on her bunk. His face fell in his hands as his anger roiled but had nothing to act upon. “Sam, you know what I think of you. Your brain is a national treasure. Your mind is a weapon of mass destruction. If you wanted to be worshiped as a goddess there isn't a person on Earth who could stop you, including me.”

Sam snorted.

“But if they know about this... Sam, if the wrong agency gets it in their head that you're not exactly as human as you look they **will** have you put down as a threat.”

Sam's expression changed. So **that** was what this was all about. She knelt on her bunk next to him and laid her forehead against his shoulder. The huff she gave was so familiar, something she'd done a thousand times before, but Jack could see now exactly how inhuman it was. Human beings didn't do that, McKay had. She had in that lab. Jacob Carter had before Selmak. The thought didn't comfort him.

“As soon as it gets obvious I'll retire,” she promised. “I'll disappear if I have to. But if I have the choice I'd rather end up here.”

It was Jack's turn to snort. “I thought you hated McKay,” he said.

“No, sir, you hate McKay,” she said. “I thought he was a pig. Then I saw he was just a dork. I know how to deal with dorks.”

“Yeah, a wedgie right when they least expect.”

Sam hit him. “I'll have you know Daniel's a dork,” she warned. “I dare you to wedgie him.”

Jack pretended to look affronted. “I wouldn't,” he said. “He'd zap me with some power he didn't know he still had then he'd feel guilty for a week.”

Sam laid her head on his shoulder and hummed. It was an odd throaty sound that Jack might have called a purr once, before he'd had reason to strike the word from his vocabulary.

“Just... don't Sing,” Jack said, almost pleading.

Sam chuckled softly. “Wouldn't dream of it.”

Jack leaned into her and sighed. She would be safe. He'd make sure of it.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nobody takes curses seriously anymore. Perhaps they should.

Don't go there at night.

Carter's report and O'Neill's warnings all boiled down to that. Don't land at night. Don't stay the night. Lock down the ship and don't listen during the night. Take to orbit if possible and don't expect anyone left ashore overnight to be the same again.

Caldwell wasn't sure what to make of it as the _Daedalus_ dropped out of hyperspace and settled into orbit around Atlantis's icy world. No one had named the planet yet, efforts had stalled due to more important matters, though the list of names had been reduced from 49 to three: Hyperborea, New Siberia, and Ice City. Smart money was on Hyperborea.

“Atlantis, this is _Daedalus_ requesting landing confirmation,” Caldwell said.

There was no answer.

“Atlantis, this is _Daedalus_ , do you copy?”

Still nothing.

“Dr. Kavanagh, get me sensor data on the city. Lieutenant Stuart, keep trying to raise them. Colonel Bishop, plot me a landing vector.”

A chorus of 'yes sir's of varying seriousness answered him. The city's lights still shone in the darkness of the night side of the planet, what could have happened to them?

“Sir, I'm getting something,” Stuart said. “It's a automatic message.”

“Relay it,” Caldwell said.

“'Approaching vessel, we request you hold your approach. You will be attended to at daybreak. If necessary, these coordinates are available for emergency landings and repairs.' Sir, now it's giving a set of coordinates.”

“Pull up a map of the area and show me that location.”

The _Daedalus_ main screen showed a map of the southern edge of the ice sheet. Atlantis was offering them berth at the Ancient outpost there. Alternatively, they could wait until the planet rotated the city into daylight.

“Colonel, there are 558 life signs in and around the city,” Kavanagh said. “All expedition members are accounted for plus 73 extra.”

“'Around' the city?” Caldwell asked.

“I can't be sure from this distance but...”

Caldwell gestured for the map to change. It panned over to show Atlantis's current location in the half-frozen ocean. Their sun would be rising soon. Then he would be demanding answers.

*****

Atlantis contacted them.

“ _Daedalus_ this is Atlantis,” came the call. “We did not expect you until later. I trust you have not been waiting long?”

The voice was some technician Caldwell didn't recognize. “I trust you'll have answers for us when we land?” he asked.

“Of course, _Daedalus_. I am authorized to get you a landing vector. The East Pier is available. You will be met upon landing.”

“They'd better,” Caldwell grumbled as the transmission was cut.

“Receiving landing vector,” Bishop said.

“Take us in.”

The landing was uneventful in the light of the rising sun. The _Daedalus_ touched down and the crew began to stretch, unload cargo, and in general mill about until the cargo doors opened.

When they did, Colonel Caldwell stepped out to find a greeting party. That was odd.

Teyla stepped forward from the group. And was that Sheppard next to her? Caldwell didn't even know Sheppard was capable of gaining weight. What had happened here?

Teyla at least looked normal as she demanded silence with a glance and a slow blink. “Welcome to Atlantis,” she said, voice clear and carrying. “Travelers, you are free to take advantage of every comfort the city offers, from food and wine to hot water and soft bedding.”

There was a snort in the back at the mention of 'soft bedding'. Everyone knew the beds on Atlantis were like planks. “What about sex?” shouted a voice from the back.

Caldwell had the wisdom to look affronted despite the snickers behind him.

“I expect you have brought your own,” Teyla said, making a fapping motion with her right hand. She waited for the sounds of male posturing to subside before continuing.

“We have one rule,” Teyla said. “Do not stay after dark. We would welcome you but the Tau'ri of Earth are most susceptible to the Mother's Song. If you stay the night you may never go home again.” She stepped back as did the others and made a welcoming motion toward the city. Several off-duty personnel went in immediately.

“Teyla,” Caldwell shouted, getting her attention. “Teyla, I do apologize for their behavior, I swear it's not representative of--”

Teyla held up a hand, a tired look on her face. “Colonel, do not take me for a fool,” she said. “Your warrior caste has always acted like this. Of course it is representative of them as a group, a caste, and as an organization. It is why I had to learn to deal with them.”

Caldwell wasn't sure what to say or even feel.

*****

The sun was high in the eastern sky when Caldwell took a break from supervising the cargo offloading and went into the city proper.

It was strange. Kavanagh had insisted everyone was accounted for on the scans but there weren't nearly enough personnel around to feel like it. The city didn't feel deserted, there were areas that looked empty but where he could feel eyes staring at him, could hear whispering voices just barely audible over the full-body hum that got worse as he neared the central spire.

He stopped his meandering when he first saw it, the faint eyeshine in the darkness. Instead he made a retreat to the nearest transporter and took it to the gateroom.

But the office was empty.

Caldwell stood on the gateroom floor, not even noticing how it was staffed with a skeleton crew of Athosians. The administrative office was empty. All of Woolsey's stuff was still there but the man was missing.

“He's not missing.”

Caldwell would not admit that he jumped at the voice right behind him. He especially would not admit it in front of Sheppard.

“Is he ill?” Caldwell asked, ignoring Sheppard's knowing smirk. “It's unusual for him to miss...”

“He's gone down like the others,” Sheppard said. “He told me you knew about McKay.”

“He's a Deep One hybrid,” Caldwell agreed.

“Being alone, taken by the Wraith, they did something to his transformation,” Sheppard explained. “He Sings the Mother's Song and it is changing all of us. Lorne was one of the first, his ATA gene always did mesh with his fragile grip on humanity. His scientists, one by one starting with Zelenka. We were all fine when the _Hammond_ left but then the SGC waited. They waited to see what would happen, didn't they?”

“I'm not at liberty to say,” Caldwell said. To be fair, all he knew were vague rumors. That O'Neill had argued in favor of complete isolation, of ignoring the Pegasus Galaxy and not looking back. Carter had fought just as hard, insisting on some contact even if it were reduced. After almost a year of argument a decision was finally reached. Two runs a year but with the firm understanding that if Atlantis gave some weird rule like 'don't stay the night' they were to follow it without question.

This trip was supposed to ascertain whether or not people stationed here would ever see Earth again. Caldwell had to admit, it was not looking good.

“One of us had to stay behind to wait,” Sheppard said. “I volunteered. The transformation hasn't been as complete for me as the others. Guess Rodney was right and I'm more Ancient than human.”

“Hmm,” Caldwell said.

Sheppard started up the stairs, waved Caldwell to follow.

In the office Sheppard took a few things out of the desk. A flash drive, a monogrammed pen, a half-empty bottle of moonshine, and something Sheppard hissed at before slamming the desk drawer. Sheppard muttered something about booby traps and paranoid NID agents before he held out a hand to Caldwell. “I need your handkerchief.”

Caldwell couldn't help but start at that hand. The fingers were webbed clear up to the second knuckle, a translucent membrane that stretched between the fingers. Their movement was only somewhat impaired as Caldwell stared and those fingers made impatient movements. “Handkerchief, Steven. Please.”

“Hmm?” Caldwell shook away his unnerved shock and reached into the breast pocket of his flight suit. Sheppard reached in with the olive drab kerchief and tried not to look as he grabbed something that obviously disgusted him. Caldwell wondered what food item he'd be washing out of his handkerchief.

It wasn't disgusting. It was a stone pendant the size of his palm on a leather thong. A necklace? Caldwell looked curiously at the strange symbol carved into the pendant, the curved points and twisting lines of the five pointed star surrounding the burning eye.

“The elder sign is supposed to protect you from people like McKay,” Sheppard said, pointedly not looking at it. “Woolsey used to trace it with his fingers when he got nervous. Then McKay happened and... As the Song got stronger its protection must have gotten weaker. Or maybe Woolsey just changed and it started working against him. Either way I can't even look at it. Creeps me the fuck out. You take it. If it has any power of protection it's going to waste here.”

Caldwell had heard of elder signs, that Delta Green issued them to their agents before giving them their first assignments. But Woolsey had always insisted he wasn't a part of their organization, that he only had delta green clearance. Caldwell wondered what had happened there as he put the elder sign around his neck and tucked the cold amulet under his shirt.

He resolutely ignored how Sheppard relaxed once the thing was hidden.

*****

The city was perhaps more welcoming now than before. It felt wrong.

There was a wrongness beneath it all with the constant feeling of being watched, the oppressive hum that came from the central tower, the whispers lurking out of earshot, and the strange emptiness.

It made the welcoming atmosphere more sinister.

Caldwell made note of the facilities under the West Pier. There were pools of hot saltwater, there was a sauna, there was fresh snow and thin reeds for activities that made Caldwell cold just thinking about them. There was what appeared to be a mud bath, fine white clay that was not unoccupied judging by the shapes and the giggling. The hot water called to him, steaming and inviting in the constant chill of this icy world.

Caldwell ignored it, ignored the dozen members of his own crew who were partaking, tried not to wonder what would happen to them if they didn't make it back on time.

The mess hall was opulently stocked, a spread cooked up that might be fitting for a state banquet. An entire pig-like animal had been roasted and laid half-carved in the stifling hot kitchen. There seemed to be no one on KP duty yet the trays never emptied, the carving continued, and the food never got cold. Half the _Daedalus_ seemed to be here, the mess hall filled with people gorging on trays of seconds, thirds, more.

Pies, small cakes, wine, teas, fried and boiled and raw squid, vegetables and tubers and enticing fruits, all of it fresh. Caldwell's stomach grumbled but he couldn't bring himself to touch any of it, not with the sun beginning to fall toward the western ocean, not with the ominous number of people sleeping on their trays after overindulging.

Caldwell left, going back to wandering the halls. He found himself in the gym where Teyla was practicing katas with the sticks.

“What is this place?” Caldwell asked.

“This is Atlantis,” Teyla said, moving slowly and deliberately.

“What happened here?”

Teyla smiled. “That is a long story.”

“I have to know.”

“Deep Ones can be sinister, selfish creatures,” Teyla said. “And they often grow lonely. This loneliness can be fatal, I hear. The Mother has his Nest of transformed humans but he is still the only one of his kind on this world. I am safe because I am not from Earth, my people share the same promise of safety. We will not change no matter how hard he Sings. But you...”

“Everyone's gone,” Caldwell realized.

“They are not gone,” Teyla said. “They are still here. For their own reasons they do not wish to be seen by visitors. Perhaps it is shame, I do not know. Perhaps it is seduction. It is easier to seduce with food and comfort if one's prey cannot see what they will become by partaking.”

Caldwell shuddered.

“That is why you must all leave by nightfall,” Teyla continued. “It is not safe for you and your kind. The Song will grow loud and the Deep Lanteans will come out of hiding to welcome those foolish enough to stay as their own. I do not know how many of your people will fall to the Song in a single night. This is our first chance to see what will happen since the _Hammond_ left.”

This was some sort of twisted fairy tale. Caldwell glanced out the window, at the sky beginning to burn with the colors of aurorae and sunset. “I have to get them out of here,” Caldwell whispered.

“You do,” Teyla agreed.

He did not like her grin. It followed him like silent laughter as he fled back to the _Daedalus_.

*****

“We have to get everyone back,” Caldwell said.

Lieutenant Stuart quickly took his feet off of his console and pretended he hadn't been lounging. “Sir?”

“Get everyone back here,” Caldwell ordered. “I want everyone back on board **now**. We lift off at sunset and God help those who don't make it on time.”

“Sir, I don't think loading is complete yet,” Stuart said. He poked at his console. “No, everyone took off for the city halfway through? What the fuck?”

“This city is cursed,” Caldwell said.

There was a silence on the bridge that would have remained unbroken. Then Kavanagh snorted. He held a hand over his mouth to keep any more sound from escaping.

Caldwell glared at Kavanagh. “Go help get everything loaded,” he ordered. “Stuart, contact everyone, everyone who still has their radio, get them all back here. I need everyone back here before we lift off. Anyone left behind...”

“We'll come back for them later?” Stuart asked.

“We will,” Caldwell said. “We'll land in the morning. That doesn't mean anyone we leave behind will be human enough to come back with us.”

Lieutenant Stuart paused, physically paused with his hand halfway to his ear. “What?”

“We're from Earth,” Caldwell said. “Same as all the expedition members. Same as the monster they brought with them. That makes us vulnerable. There are no humans left in this city. There are Athosians and there are the creatures the expedition members became. Anyone left here overnight will become just like them.”

There was a tone from the sensor panel. Caldwell tapped the little flashing button. It brought up a sensor scan of Atlantis and the surrounding ocean, displaying it on the _Daedalus_ main screen.

There were life signs in the ocean, well over a hundred. They were moving toward the city, all of them.

The Mother was calling his thralls home.

*****

Twenty seven.

The _Daedalus_ was missing twenty seven men when she lifted off. Still, no one seemed to take it seriously until they landed the next day.

They found one man huddled in the doorway to the East Pier. He stared straight ahead, eyes wide and blank as he shuddered and mumbled about the Song, the eyes, the monsters.

He never said what happened to the rest of them.

He didn't have to.

Now there were 584 life signs in and around the city.

Now the city's beauty, her comforts, her seduction, it all seemed so sinister.

The _Daedalus_ returned home, her cargo hold full of wonders and her cabins full of ghosts.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been four years since Queen Death interfered with that which she didn't understand. Now there are monsters.

Colonel Caldwell sat on his bunk in the SGC's VIP quarters. He held Woolsey's, no, **his** elder sign in his hands, fingers tracing the curved lines and sharp corners of the sigil. The lines felt burned into his fingertips, or maybe that burning was something he didn't want to admit.

Four years.

Four years ago he'd made the first runs to Atlantis's new world, to their ice-world of Hyperborea. The war with the Wraith was quick and bloody but it ended with a victory. A tenuous peace seemed to settle over the Pegasus Galaxy. Nothing had come out of the Void to challenge them since, it was supposed to be quiet from then on. He was supposed to get bored, to start clamoring for more. Sam was supposed to take over the supply runs with the _George Hammond_ while he and the _Daedalus_ finally had some time in the Milky Way. Something close to home, something to familiarize himself with the current state of galactic politics in preparation for something bigger.

Then the Deep One thing happened.

O'Neill was supposed to observe the situation but something went wrong. That's all anyone knew, that something 'went wrong'. Rumor was that it involved Carter, rumors substantiated by how quickly and firmly O'Neill tried to silence them. It was obvious to anyone who looked, though. Her eyes were different. More blue, more piercing, just more, like something in that already unnervingly intelligent brain had been unlocked. She acted different, just a little bit, spending more time with her command crew. She took to listening to white noise while working on problems. That itself wasn't odd, there were plenty of scientists in the SGC who did the same, but she'd get a faraway look when asked about it, said it reminded her of... and then she'd trail off and change the subject. Every time.

They argued, Carter and O'Neill. He grew overly protective, like she was suddenly vulnerable in some way. She despised what she called his 'piss-poor attempt at Mothering' and threw herself into the same dangerous projects she'd always undertaken. It wasn't something discussed in public, nor was it something any member of the SGC mentioned outside of closed doors, but it did make O'Neill's 'disappearance' something to gossip over.

He didn't really disappear, everyone knew what had happened. O'Neill gave up on his own humanity. He was last seen dragging Daniel Jackson into the gateroom. Jackson stood on the ramp to the stargate and draped O'Neill's arms over his shoulders before pulling him close. It would have been scandalous if not for the glowing or the screaming or the tendrils. Especially the glowing.

Nothing was left of them, either of them, and neither one had returned. The SGC betting pools were fading away, collapsing under the realization that it might be permanent this time. That Dr. Jackson finally ascended for good and he'd taken Jack O'Neill with him. There were stories, though, from SG teams who found the best way to get a busted DHD working in a pinch was to shout dirty limericks at the gate.

Carter was made Brigadier General within a week of O'Neill's 'disappearance'.

She ran the SGC now. She was why the SG teams had shifted focus to exploration, especially to planets that might otherwise have been overlooked. She was why no one caught the 'vandal' who kept leaving a single beer and a six pack of cupcakes next to the gate, or caught who kept eating them. She was why Caldwell would have to board the _Daedalus_ in a week and wonder how many members of his crew he'd never see again.

*****

General Carter found Caldwell in the VIP quarters. He'd been sitting on the bed for hours, staring down at the thing in his hands like he was praying to it. She knocked on the bedroom door.

“Sir,” Caldwell said, getting up to salute.

“At ease,” she said. As she suspected, he slumped back onto the bed, still staring at the elder sign. She suppressed a shudder at the thing. “What's on your mind?”

“I can't go back there,” Caldwell whispered.

“What?”

He looked up at her, eyes haunted and empty. “We lost 47 last time. I can't go back there.”

Carter sat next to him on the bed, gently pushing his wrist to move the elder sign out of her field of vision. “What happened?”

Caldwell sighed. “Every time, every run we lose someone. We lose a dozen someones. Might as well be a hundred. It's been almost three years since we reopened supply runs on Hyperborea. I've made five runs and I've lost 151 people. The first run, 26 didn't come back. The second, 15. Then 29, then 34, then 47. One hundred sixty seven people have been left overnight. I've brought home 16 of them, 4 are sane. I've lost enough people to crew the _Daedalus_ , I can't lose any more. I can't do it.”

Carter laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezing to try and keep him grounded. She knew his tone of voice. He was breaking, shattering, burning out and there was nothing anyone could do about it. He'd retire soon and he'd either find something to keep him occupied or his life could be measured in months. It almost made her feel bad for what she was about to do.

Almost. But maybe there was hope for him in it, too.

“Last run was the worst,” Caldwell said, not looking at her. “I lost Captain Stuart. He was my comms officer for eight years. I hand-picked him for that first flight. He knew what he was doing, Sam. He left his radio on the console, packed a bag, and left when no one was there to watch. He **knew** what would happen to him and he just... left. Walked off into the city and he was gone. He wasn't there in the morning.

“I don't know what to do anymore,” he continued. “I can't go back there. If I do I can't guarantee I'll come back and that scares me. I'm terrified of what would happen but... I can't stand this...”

“Why don't you stay?” Carter asked.

Caldwell finally looked at her, disgust and terror written as plainly on his face as the blatant want. “I can't,” he said, even as his hands started to shake. He tossed the elder sign aside, holding his hands like they burned. “I can't do it, Sam. They're not human anymore but you can still see who they were! Even that... **creature** they call the Mother. You can still see who he was. They're all still there!”

“That's why I'm going,” Carter said.

Caldwell pulled away from her.

Sam pulled at the gloves she'd worn for two years, ever since Jack's ascension. Delicate buttons held them on, buttons pulled apart one by one until she could slide the white leather off. Her hands were pale underneath, the nails long and... blunted?

She rolled up her sleeves to show him, to reveal the small grey-green scales on the backs of her hands, crawling up her arms. Her nails weren't anymore, they might instead have been claws that were trimmed and filed down to the quick. “I'm a hybrid,” she said. “That's why I have to go. I won't stay here and be studied or take to the water and become a slave to Mother Hydra. I'll go to Hyperborea and Atlantis. That way I'll still be myself when I transform.”

She watched as Caldwell's fear broke, as something else took its place. He collapsed in on himself, slumping down as he sighed and wrapped his arms around his middle. The elder sign lay forgotten on the floor.

“I've hid this as long as I can,” Sam said. “But I can't hide it anymore. Medical is asking questions, the NID is interested, they're transferring in Delta Green agents to keep an eye on me. I won't be a prisoner on my own world.”

“You'll be a prisoner there,” Caldwell said.

She smiled. “No, I won't. I'll finally be free. Come with me, Steven. Come to Hyperborea one last time.”

He shook his head, a desperation in his eyes.

“Just once more,” she said as she reached up with one scaled hand to trace along his bald head and down his neck. “You've done so much for Earth. Saved us all. Now there's nothing left for you here. Hyperborea waits. Atlantis waits. The Mother waits.”

Caldwell's eyes shut as he grabbed her and hugged her close, burying his face in her neck. She could feel his silent sob rattle through her as she wrapped her arms around him and held him, drew her fingertips down his spine. If she could she would purr to him but she was nobody's Mother.

“I'll go,” he said, defeated.

She smiled. “Good. There are a few others who agreed to come with. We'll need to pick them up before the _Daedalus_ leaves.”

He nodded.

“And then we can all go home.”

*****

Sam Carter reclined in the mess hall of the _Daedalus_ , watching the show. They were about halfway through the Void and it was time for the ritual hazing of the first-timers. The line-crossing ceremony.

First there were the spankings with a mess hall tray then the anointing with whatever was on hand, today it appeared to be kool-aid. Finally the proclamations given by Colonel Sobel, Caldwell's second in command.

“To all Travelers wherever ye may be! And to all Aliens, Ascended, Void Serpents, Lost, Found, and all other living things of Space. Know ye that on this day there appeared in Our Royal Domain of Midway the _USS Daedalus_ bound for Hyperborea.”

It was an old naval custom, Sam knew, dating back to the idea of the world having an equator to cross. It hadn't been adapted for the intergalactic crossing until well after the _Daedalus's_ route had been established.

“Be it remembered that the said Vessel and Officers and Crew have been inspected and passed on by Ourself and Our Royal Staff. And be it known by all ye Airmen, Marines, Scientists, and others who may be honored by their presence that these men and women, having been found worthy to be numbered as one of our Trusty Travelers, they have been duly initiated into the Solemn Mysteries of the Ancient Order of the Void.”

Sam watched as the new 'inductees', over a third of the crew, looked around nervously. She could see the moment they began to wonder why there were so many of them and so few looking on.

“Be it further understood that by virtue of the power invested in me I do hereby command all my subjects to show due honor and respect to them wherever they may be. Disobey this order under penalty of Our Royal Displeasure.”

If this were Earth there would be certificates signed by Caldwell as commanding officer, by Neptune, Ruler of the Raging Sea, and by His Royal Scribe Davey Jones. Here there was nothing like that, too easy to get lost in the shuffle, raised too many questions. Instead there were beers handed out and wait, Carter's first crossing had never involved beer. She made a face at Colonel Sobel until the hint was taken and Carter was able to snag a bottle for herself.

Besides, it wasn't like Caldwell was present to drink his share. He'd been scarce all trip, probably hiding in his cabin.

Colonel Sobel cleared her throat and raised her bottle to the ceiling. “To His Royal Majesty, Ruler of the Empty Void, Jack O'Neill.”

Carter snorted beer up her nose as the rest of them all toasted Jack like he was someone long dead. Sam knew better and she glared as much as Sobel sat across from her. “You made him a god,” Carter accused, rubbing her sinuses.

“Not really,” Sobel said. “It's just for Void crossings. We figured he'd like it.”

Carter glared at her, though she couldn't fault the logic.

“You left offerings of cake at the gate for two years,” Sobel accused.

“I did not,” Carter said with mock seriousness. “I simply didn't put a stop to the offerings.”

Sobel snorted.

“And if a gate team leader happened to come to my office with golf clubs and a straight face, claiming they 'promised'...”

Sobel tried to hold the giggles in.

“The gate hasn't worked so well since Daniel first ascended,” Carter said. She lost her own battle and the two of them gave in, laughing at the absurdity of it all.

“Why is everyone all weird?”

Sam let her laughter fade as she gestured the newcomer to sit with her. “This is that 'crossing Midway' ceremony you decided not to partake in back when,” she said.

Jeannie Miller frowned at the drinking and the multicolored lines drawn across people's foreheads. “It's not what pops into mind when I think of 'military',” she admitted.

“Think 'Navy' and you'll get it,” Colonel Sobel said, raising her mostly empty beer bottle. She stood and shouted over the din of the crowd. “To reasons!”

“To reasons!” Most of the room drank to her toast, nobody caring what it meant.

Sobel drained her bottle and set it down. “I should head to the bridge,” she said. “Caldwell's still holed up in his cabin so somebody has to take watch.”

Carter waved as she left. “So how's your family so far?” she asked.

Jeannie shrugged. “Madison's excited,” she said. “Kaleb is... I'm still not sure how he feels about this. I think it was all easier for him when it was just Meredith and I getting up to weirdness in another galaxy. Now knowing that Madison's a hybrid, that I'll probably change, that there's nothing he can do about it... When did you know?”

“I found out I'm a hybrid four years ago,” Sam admitted. “Your brother helped me with that. I hadn't known before then.”

“Meredith always knew,” Jeannie said. “Dad was always up-front about it, about us. I don't think I really believed it until we got word about Meredith, about Atlantis being under quarantine. I'm glad the quarantine was lifted, though. I mean, that's why we're going, right?”

“Atlantis is...” Sam pondered her beer bottle before draining it. “Ask around and you'll hear how Atlantis is cursed. You can land during the day, wander the halls and find no one, but you have to be on your ship and gone by the time night falls. That's when the monsters come out. The _Daedalus_ loses more and more people every trip, they just don't come back by nightfall. The ship lands the next morning but only a few of the missing come back.”

“And we're going there?” Jeannie asked, wondering.

“Yes.”

“What exactly have you gotten us into?” Jeannie demanded.

Sam smiled wistfully. “It's a chance for endless wonders and a life with meaning,” she said. “We've all saved the Earth, Atlantis, the Milky Way, even more. But there's always one more crisis, one more problem, one more discovery to make, all at the whims of the IOA and the NID and the people of Earth too small to understand. I'm going because I'm tired of it all. I'm staying because I won't indenture myself to Mother Hydra just to Sing the stars right, the way your father wanted. I won't let the very people I've saved lock me up as a subject of study the way they wanted to do with your brother. I will make my own life.”

“And us?”

“You have a choice now,” Sam said. “Follow me or return to the _Daedalus_ by nightfall. If you return you go home and at least you'll have had the chance to see your brother one last time. If you follow me you lose Earth but you gain the chance to be who and what you are.”

Jeannie looked quiet, disturbed, the same expression she'd held when Sam gave her the news of McKay's transformation four years ago.

“Trips to Atlantis, to Hyperborea as they call her world, won't continue forever,” Sam warned. “This may be the last one. This may be your only chance.”

Jeannie got up and left. Sam watched her go, wander away in a half-daze. It might have been cruel not to warn the Millers of the reality of this trip. Or it might have been worse to tell them and then be unable to bring them along.

*****

Hyperborea.

The planet was second in a system of five. Two gas giants dominated the outer orbits, each with their own little systems of moons. One of those moons seemed most promising for study, the remains of a set of Ancient docking doors leading into its ice crust.

The third world spun empty and devoid. There was nothing here, barely even a wispy tail of hydrogen stripped from the crust by ferocious solar winds.

The second from the angry yellow dwarf had an intense magnetic field, ice sheets over its poles and temperate zones, an ocean around the equator. On the night side sliding around toward day there floated a single city, drifting on harsh currents in the frigid waters. Atlantis.

The closest to the star hugged it, almost close enough to fall in. There had been jokes that the planet should be named 'The Floor is Lava', drunken suggestions that nobody took seriously. Still, no one dared fly close.

Hyperborea. Named for the lost continent of Earth's far north, for the Greeks' belief in a land beyond the North Wind. It was supposed to be a perfect place, beautiful and warm where the sun never set.

That was a laugh. A mocking laugh. The sun did indeed set on Atlantis and when it did...

All those of Earth had to leave. Or they would never leave again.

*****

“I want you to stay on the ship.”

Kaleb Miller looked affronted that his wife would suggest such a thing. “No, I'm going with you,” he said. “I'm not leaving you alone there.”

“I'll try to come back, I promise, but...” Jeannie looked down at her hands. They still looked so human. Would that have changed if she'd stayed on Earth? “I can't guarantee I'll be able to.”

“Then stay on the ship,” Kaleb said. “You, me, Madison, we don't have to go. We can stay here, return to Earth, act like nothing happened.”

“But it did!” Jeannie snapped. “It did and it has and it always will! And I can't stop it. This is happening to me and to Madison and it doesn't have to happen to you. Please, Kaleb.”

“I'm going with you,” Kaleb said, voice low and steady. He took his wife's shaking hands in his own. “If you stay, I stay.”

Jeannie shook her head, biting her lip. “You can't.”

“I can and I will.”

“You'll turn into a monster.”

Kaleb snorted. “And you won't?” he asked. “You're not asking me to stand back and watch as the two women I love most turn into... Don't make me stay here, Jeannie.”

The ship lurched as the inertial dampeners shut down. The ship gave a soft hiss of equalizing pressure and then their cabin door was thrown open.

“We're here, we're here!” Madison shouted.

Kaleb looked at her, really looked. Aside from the dreams and the drawings she made, she could have been completely normal. A completely normal 11 year old human girl. Instead she still had blue dye tainting the ends of her blonde pigtails, she wore tights with patches of silicone scales embedded in the fabric, before this trip there'd been discussions with the Canadian National Swim Team about training and preparations and competitions and sponsorships. She took after the stranger elements of her mother's family and it made Earth less than safe.

And then she ran off down the corridor, pounding on other doors to announce their arrival.

Kaleb pulled his wife to him, held her tight as she silently cried. “I'm going with you,” he whispered. “If I last the night I'll go back with them. That's all I can promise you, if I last the night I'll go.”

Jeannie nodded and kissed him.

It was a promise he had no intention of keeping.

*****

Caldwell stood outside in the snow, watching as his crew shifted cargo boxes into the _Daedalus's_ hold. There were the usual crates, opaque and undisturbed. There was a blue crystalline thing that had a note on it: do not stare at black hole. There were carefully packed boxes of technology, dissected and repaired crystals, a case holding a depleted ZPM, a flash drive that held a detailed account of local politics and the state of the galaxy.

Sam Carter stood beside him, white leather gloves in one hand. She breathed deeply. “I missed the smell,” she said.

“Hmm,” Caldwell said.

“And that sound...”

“That's Atlantis,” Caldwell said absently. “She Sings during the day, while the Deep Lanteans sleep and watch and wait.”

Carter hummed, eyes falling closed. They opened languidly, like she was trying to seduce. Or perhaps she was being seduced. “They can finish this without you, Steven,” she said. “Let's see the city.”

Caldwell gave the _Daedalus_ one last long look then turned away from her and followed.

The city was as beautiful now as she'd always been.

Blue glass sparkled in the cold light of day, glinting off the dull metal that might have shone copper-red in another life. Clear water burbled and bubbled in the pipes along the walls, adding their own warble to the dim sconces that lit empty corridors. There was no dust, no stench of standing water or rotted salt, just the fresh smell of living ocean and a city that was cared for, loved.

Smells changed near the mess hall, rich welcoming smells that promised an entire banquet of delights. They were different this time, different every time, new offerings replacing old as the local tastes moved away from Earth analogues toward something more unique. It didn't lessen the sounds of the _Daedalus's_ crew gorging themselves silly on food and wine and fine things. They would lose track of time, the sun going down while they indulged, and they would be trapped here same as the ones before them. Same as those who would come after.

Caldwell wondered how many of them would make it out with their humanity intact.

The cold dissipated near the West Pier, near the hot pools that lurked underneath the water line. It should have been cold here, it should have been dark. Instead it was light and warm and full of laughter. So many other fools who would forget the time and the dangers of sunset.

But the central tower was the worst. The Song came from the base of the spire, vibrating up the entire tower to reverberate through the city. The labs were here as well, half-finished projects left abandoned in the dawn. Computers had changed over four years, augmented as they were with crystals and dull copper-red metal. Their cases were the only things that identified them as human constructions, sometimes they didn't even have that.

The gateroom had lost its Earth-installed interfaces. Now the skeleton crew of Athosians interacted with the computers as the Ancients once had, even though they lacked the ATA gene. They still looked human, perhaps they still were, or perhaps there was something else at work here.

“Are you searching for Teyla?”

The man who spoke was Athosian but he did the work of a technician with years of experience. Caldwell didn't know his name, had never taken the time to learn.

“Among other things,” Sam said.

“She is in discussion with the Mother,” he said. “The Lady Alabaster left three nights ago and there has been much to ponder since then.”

“I hope it's good news,” Sam said.

“I believe it may be.”

Caldwell stood back and listened to what was and wasn't said. The Wraith were still involved here. Atlantis had kept her place in Pegasus politics despite the fate of the expedition. That seemed so implausible that he almost dismissed it out of hand.

It couldn't be. But it was.

*****

“Oh, smell that...”

Jeannie took a cautious sniff. She and Kaleb were near the mess hall, the siren smells drifting down the corridors and calling them in. Kaleb had his nose in the air and was following the scent of things Jeannie knew for a fact weren't even remotely vegan. “Kaleb, don't,” she said even as he dragged her to its source.

The mess hall spread included pots of soups and stews, casks of wine, pots of tea, steamed and fresh vegetables, and through it all as decoration and dish were long squid tentacles raw and steamed and stewed and sauteed in what smelled like a butter and mushroom sauce. Kaleb broke away from Jeannie and made a bee-line for the food.

Jeannie rolled her eyes before following him. If he was going to escape then she needed to keep him in line. “Kaleb, let's go.”

Kaleb ignored the stack of trays and bowls and utensils, instead reached out and grabbed a thick tentacle as long as his arm. He bit into it and groaned. “Honey, you have **got** to try this,” he said, offering her the meaty end of the tentacle.

She grabbed his wrist and pulled him away, out of the mess hall, away from the tables of people who were already lost but too distracted to realize it yet. “It's a trap,” she realized. “They'll eat and eat and eat and they won't even care that the sun's gone down or the ship has left. They won't even **care** when Meredith's Song starts to change them.”

“And why are you worried?” Kaleb asked, a strange languidness to his words and movements as he licked butter sauce from his prize. “That's why you're here. Your brother Sings and you've come to hear him. Is it so wrong that there are others who want to listen?”

Jeannie grabbed the tentacle from Kaleb's hands and threw it down the corridor. “Listen to yourself,” she snapped. “You're already giving up! You promised me you'd try to go back.”

Kaleb leaned close to her, pressing his forehead to hers. “I know,” he whispered. “I'm sorry.”

She sighed and held him close. “Please try.”

He didn't answer.

*****

Caldwell found Sam Carter in what would be a compromising position if everyone else in the pools and tubs weren't also naked. And if she weren't liberally coated in the fine white clay she lounged in. “You know this place is a trap, right?” he asked.

“This entire city is a whole series of traps,” Sam said, almost purring in her contentment. “Avoid one and you spring another.” She sat up, sliding her hands along her breasts and torso while Caldwell resolutely didn't watch. “It's like Atlantis wants to keep us here. All of us.”

“Hmm,” Caldwell said. He took in the scene around him, members of his crew lounging in the warm waters, an Athosian woman watching a group of children as they swam in one of the larger pools. He could see the Miller child among them, her blue-tipped hair cascading down her back like scales.

“So why do you come back?” Sam asked.

“I have to,” Caldwell said. “The IOA insists...”

“ **Some** one has to come here,” Sam corrected. “It doesn't have to be you or the _Daedalus_. There's the _Apollo_ , the _Hammond_ , the _Hephaestion_. It never had to be you. But it always was. Why?”

Caldwell sat down on the floor, on white glass tiles that glowed feebly under the feet of the ATA-active. “No one else should have to go through that,” he said.

Sam nodded, leaning back against the edge of the mudbath. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “The loss of crew?” she asked. “Or having to leave the Song every time?”

Caldwell didn't answer.

*****

The sun was sinking toward the horizon. Colonel Sobel paced the bridge of the _Daedalus_ , trying not to wring her hands. “Where is he,” she muttered. “Where are they. We're still down 50 people, we can't wait much longer, tell me they're coming.”

At the sensor station Dr. Kavanagh shook his head. “There's no one coming this way,” he said. “No one else will make it.”

Sobel stopped pacing. She took a deep calming breath and then screamed as she kicked the bulkhead. The sounds echoed. “Raise someone, anyone, I don't care who.”

Lieutenant Hutchinson tapped his radio. “This is the _Daedalus_ , come in. Anyone listening, come in. To any personnel still on Atlantis, come in. Please.” Then he sat up straight and immediately pushed a button to put the answer on speaker.

“ _Daedalus_ , this is Colonel Caldwell.”

“Steven, dammit, where are you?” Sobel demanded. “I have to take off, the sun's almost down, get your ass back here. Sir.”

“Take off,” he said.

“What?!”

“Take care of her, Colonel,” Caldwell said. “Get her out of there. Get as many people out of there as you can.”

“No. We'll come back for you, we'll be back in the morning, just hold out until then, sir. Sir? Sir!”

But there was only static.

In the corridors of Atlantis Caldwell tossed his radio aside. All around him he could see the lamp-like eyeshine in the shadows. They stared, curious, interested, coming closer as the sconces went out. Darkness fell and he closed his eyes.

He could hear the Song.

He could hear them all.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night has fallen.

Madison was used to wet hair and wet clothes. The other children, Ina, Merrin, and Dara, also didn't seem to mind although their clothing was much less confining than hers. She'd given up on her tights, she left them behind in a locker near the sauna along with the other pieces of clothing the others didn't seem to think she needed: bra, shoes, socks, undershirt. It was freeing to run around like this, enough that she could almost forget how new and strange all this was.

She could feel the cold floor under her bare feet, the drying salt rubbing against her skin, the cold air on her legs. It was like Canada in early spring but with less flannel and fewer bad jokes.

Then it all grew serious.

Merrin looked out a window, his eyes growing wide. “You should leave,” he said, looking at Madison.

Madison watched the others all take on strange expressions, almost like... fear? “What? Why?”

“Visitors from Earth must leave before the sun sets,” Ina said. “Or you never will.”

Madison snorted.

“It is true,” Ina insisted. “I saw one once, a man, he did not leave before the sun set. The Others, they came for him. They... The Mother came for him and he...”

But then the city rumbled, ever so slightly. The three Athosian children looked at Madison with fear in their eyes. Fear and pity.

“You can never go home again,” Ina warned.

Madison shrugged. “My mom said we came here to stay,” she said. “The dreams meant I wasn't safe on Earth. That's why we're here. Uncle Meredith was supposed to make it safe here for people like us.”

The Athosian children whispered among themselves. Madison didn't understand the language, it wasn't English. When they turned back to her their fear was gone. “We have decided,” Ina said.

Madison didn't like that tone.

“If you are staying here, we will take you to the Mother,” Ina said. “And then we will see.”

Merrin and Dara each grabbed one of Madison's arms and pulled her off in a jog toward the nearest transporter. Ina led the way as they crowded in and she pushed the button that would take them to the base of the central spire.

This place was dim like twilight, long shadows broken by strange growths on the walls that glowed to give a faint blue-purple light. The corridor smelled like water and seaweeds and living ocean. Open doorways led into dark rooms where people looked out at her with eyes that glowed green in the blackness.

She could hear voices all around her.

“A little girl...” “Who is she?” “Who would bring a child here?” “I wonder...” “It can't be...” “Madison?”

Madison looked around for the direction of the voice, any voice, there were dozens of them all around her. Weirder still, they were all talking about her.

“It **is** Madison.” “Who?” “Rodney's niece.” “I had no idea.” “I wonder if she's...” “How did she get here?” “How...” “Why...”

Ina looked at Madison with a wary eye. “The Others know who you are,” she said.

“Who are the Others?” Madison asked.

Ina opened her mouth to answer but the voices around them began to laugh.

“The Athosians call us that.” “Won't admit we're human anymore.” “No one wants to admit.” “No one wants to stay and hear the Song.” “Even the Wraith think we're monsters.” “They call us 'Deep Lanteans'.” “Humans of Earth twist when they hear the Song.” “Your Uncle Rodney Sings the Song.” “We all dance to his Song.” “That's morbid, Radek.” “Hush, is true.”

There were distinct voices coalescing out of the cacophony, out of the myriad of whispers around them. There were shapes coming toward them, too, shapes that came out of the shadows to watch and wait and whisper and...

“Hello Dr. Zelenka,” Ina said.

The being who stepped out of the shadows looked almost human. Madison wondered what all the fuss was about. Sure he had webbed hands and feet, his skin was all smooth, his eyes shone, and whatever that was he wore it wasn't pants but Madison thought he looked rather normal. And yes, maybe he did look very different from the Athosians but that didn't make him weird or scary or anything like that. He even had an old pair of glasses perched on his nose.

“My dear,” Zelenka said, lifting a webbed hand to stroke rubbery fingertips along Madison's face. “Where are your parents?”

“They're here,” Madison said. “Somewhere. Mom kept trying to get Dad to leave at sunset but he wouldn't go. I... Okay, we got separated. I went swimming and they went looking around.”

“I imagine they are worried about you,” Zelenka said.

Madison scoffed. “Please, I'm 11. Besides, I'm not alone.” She gestured to the Athosian children she'd met earlier. “They were bringing me to the Mother. I'm hoping the Mother knows where my Uncle Meredith is.”

The whispers engulfed them all.

“See? I told you.” “Meredith? His name is...” “Shut up.” “That makes so much sense.” “It's like a bad joke.” “Still...”

Zelenka stared unimpressed into the darkness. The whispers died down. He turned back to the children, all four of them. “I will take her,” he said. “You three should go back.”

“Nu uh,” Dara protested. “We are old enough. We have never even seen the Mother and--”

Merrin clamped his hand over Dara's mouth. “Hush,” he hissed.

Zelenka laughed, a strange hissing sound that matched his pointed and irregular teeth. “None of you have seen the Mother,” he predicted. “You thought this would be your chance.” The guilty looks were all the answer he needed. “Come along if you must, but there is to be no screaming.”

The Athosian children all perked up and followed dutifully, deep into the central spire. The whispers grew less coherent here as words gave way to general sounds. The meandering corridor ended at a single doorway that Zelenka opened with the wave of a webbed paw over the still-glowing crystals. Inside was...

There were several figures in varying stages of humanity from the beautiful Athosian woman with long black hair to the pale creatures that looked like people but didn't move like it to the iridescent beings who lay sprawled about in the silt on the floor. But none of these were the Mother.

The Mother was a monster, large eyes shining in the darkness, scales shimmering with echoes of the aurorae outside, long lines of dorsal spines that rattled and vibrated, a long fat tail that lazed behind. Its head was the head of a fish, blank and staring and utterly animal despite the alien intelligence that flickered and sparked in those bright blue eyes. It hissed at them as the Athosian children huddled together and stared, trying not to scream while the Athosian woman saw them and reached out for them with a welcoming smile.

The three human children stood paralyzed with fear despite their leader Teyla telling them it was all right, they were safe here, come and meet the Mother who protects us from the Wraith. They stared at the monster and its claws, its teeth, its armored scales, and at the spines that rattled in time with the low thrumming purr that came from its throat and echoed from the walls.

Madison took in the scene and recognized the monster of her dreams come to life. She knew who this was. “Uncle Meredith!” she cried and threw herself into the monster's arms. She hummed in contentment as he hugged her back, his purr vibrating through her. He felt like home.

*****

The gateroom was busy as the Athosians handed off their watch to the true rulers of this city. Woolsey found his office at least somewhat respected this time, his chair had been sat in but the desk drawers unopened. He stretched then sat down.

Atlantis hadn't changed since they isolated themselves for the SGC's sake. Trade and exploration continued through the gate with mixed teams of Athosians and the former humans now called Deep Lanteans. Woolsey couldn't help the snort at the name. Nobody knew what Deep Ones called themselves, not himself, not Rodney, not Atlantis. The Wraith had begun the name, insisting that the Tau'ri humans of Earth were no longer human and maybe never were. Guide had said it made him feel ill, knowing he had fed so wantonly on such non-human prey.

Well, if it protected them from the Wraith, no one on Atlantis was going to protest. Even if it did put them in some nebulous category between human and Wraith, food and not-food, respected and feared, kith and kine.

Monsters.

Woolsey never enjoyed fancying himself a monster. The webbed hands and short pale claws didn't convince him. Rather it was the _Daedalus_ runs that made him wonder.

Like today's run. A preliminary report came through on his laptop and he had to head out into the gateroom to confirm. There was no way this was true.

“Have they stopped leaving at sunset?” Woolsey demanded as he reached the gateroom balcony.

Chuck shrugged. He pointed at the city readings, tapped at the crystals to bring up data.

“Do they have enough personnel to get back?” Woolsey asked.

“They do.” Sheppard sauntered up behind them to peer at the numbers. He still gave a low whistle. “They left 55 people behind?”

“They did,” Chuck said. “But I think a few were on purpose.”

“What?” Woolsey asked.

“Word from the spire,” Chuck said. “There's a little girl there, McKay's niece.”

“Madison?” Sheppard demanded. “Wait, Madison's here? That means...” He trailed off before running down to the transporter.

Chuck looked confused at the fleeing man before turning his deep-eyed gaze on Woolsey.

“That means his sister's here,” Woolsey explained. “At least two Deep One hybrids. This... might be a good idea. Didn't Dr. McNabb say something about it? Maybe with more Deep Ones in his Nest the city won't Sing as hard as she does. She won't trap so many from the _Daedalus_.”

“And we won't have to integrate so many into the city,” Chuck said. "Or maybe she'll Sing harder. The ATA-active do report she seems happier as more people change." He watched the blips on the city's sensors, the darting flashes in the water outside the city.

They'd all taken to the change in different degrees, from the scant webbed hands and feet of the naturally ATA-active to the full-body transformations that left so many uncomfortable out of the water. Most were somewhere in-between, belonging to both the city and the water. It was...

Chuck smiled as he watched the blips of a hundred Deep Lanteans dancing around the city. He had to admit, it was glorious.

*****

Caldwell opened his eyes.

The room was dim, lit by the shining aurorae burning their beams through the stained glass windows. It stank of saltwater, of cold ocean, of that smell he'd long come to associate with first landing on Atlantis in the grey of early morning. It was the smell of some living thing, a creature that lurked beneath the waves by day but came to shore at night.

Green eyeshine broke the shadows, dark forms moving in the deep grey. They didn't move like human beings, not really, not at all. They moved like animals, two and four and no-legged animals that darted and shifted and twitched and cocked their heads in bestial curiosity. These were the Deep Lanteans, the monsters that lurked beneath the water line.

Despair hit Caldwell like a wave crashing upon the shore. He would never go home, never return to Earth. He was trapped here now, trapped as these monsters were, cursed to slowly lose his humanity and all that made him unique, himself, a person. Doomed to dance to the Song that he could hear now, feel it permeating the walls and air and his own head...

“Colonel?”

Caldwell couldn't help it. He looked in the direction of the monster that called to him, that knew him, some poor creature that still had some thought...

“Steven... I wondered when it might be you.”

He knew that voice. “Captain Stuart?” he asked, not wanting to believe it.

The worst part was Caldwell could tell this was once Captain Mark Stuart, his comms officer for eight years. He still looked like him, just enough to make it horrible. The creature had Stuart's face, his easy grin marred with inhumanly sharp teeth, his brown eyes all wrong with that eerie shine, his hair fallen out in patches like it wasn't sure what to do. The rest of it was human-shaped, perhaps, but it wasn't human. The body was too smooth, the limbs too strange, the hands and feet webbed and clawed, the clothing wasn't even remotely what Caldwell would consider normal. This...

That was what his comms officer had decided to become. “You left the _Daedalus_ ,” Caldwell said.

There was that grin again. “So did you, sir.”

The creature slid down the wall to sit next to Caldwell, its thick limbs arrayed in front of it. Caldwell didn't move away. Some part of him wanted to, wanted to run to the East Pier and shout, scream, wave his arms to call the _Daedalus_ back to take him away, to save him from this place. That part wasn't very loud, fading under a soft thrum that he instinctively craved.

“I lost so many,” Caldwell said. “I couldn't do it anymore. I was just going to retire, see what happened, but then General Carter... She...”

“She's a hybrid, isn't she?” Stuart asked. “You hear things. Around here. From the Mother.”

Caldwell hummed his assent. “She's here,” he said. “She wanted to stay. Convinced me to stay, too. I think. I'm not quite sure why I'm here.”

Stuart idly flipped his webbed feet, grasping his claws at nothing. “It's nice here,” he said. “I've taken leave on Earth but... There's nothing really there for me. Easier that way, yanno? Then if something goes wrong there's no one to notify. I guess I just sort of lost my connection there and... found one here.”

Caldwell sighed and let himself listen to the soft humming of the Song, to the ebb and flow of the waves outside, to the words of what was once a man he considered a close friend. He'd felt the same disconnect on Earth, a loneliness so total it nearly overwhelmed him when he set foot outside the SGC. It was like he was still in hyperspace, or perhaps trapped halfway in some other dimension as he moved through crowds, past people, walked the halls of the Pentagon and responded to calls from committees. They all seemed flat, like cardboard cutouts, like if he turned just right he could see their edges.

Atlantis was never like that. The _Daedalus_ was never like that. Space was never like that.

He belonged to space.

“I think I know what you mean,” Caldwell admitted. “But it's been so hard. I lost so many...”

“You didn't lose us, Steven,” Stuart said. He put a cold webbed hand on Caldwell's shoulder. “We're all still here.”

“I see that now.”

“Stay. Here. With us.”

The darkness still held glowing eyes all watching them, dark shapes that moved wrong, whispers just on the far edge of hearing. But they weren't sinister anymore.

*****

When Sam opened her eyes it was dark. This darkness wasn't like any darkness she expected, it was not the grey and black darkness of night-adapted human eyes. No, this was something fuzzier with more blue and green in it.

The spa-like area under the West Pier was empty. Everyone else was gone, either fled back to the _Daedalus_ with the sunset or descended deeper into the city heeding a call they didn't understand. The steam had faded, a chill cloying dampness replacing the scent of hot saltwater.

Sam shivered. She was getting cold. The warm mudbath had changed, its heat lost in the chill of this icy world. She began scraping the clay from her limbs and torso, wiping it off of her skin so she could get out and wash off.

Then the whispers began.

“It's true...” “I hadn't believed it.” “You're here.” “You're really here.” “Sam...”

Sam looked around her, at the figures behind the voices. The whispers came from all around, each one linked to a shape in the darkness and a pair of eyes shining green in the night. Those figures were mostly human, or at least they were once. She could see shapes, suggestions, movements. She could see which ones could still walk and which ones crawled on their bellies as the Song twisted them so completely that their limbs had changed function. And yet even these still had some semblance of a whisper, a sussur-ing tone that added to the all-around feel of voices.

“Madison told us you were here.” “Caldwell, too.” “But it was too much to hope for.” “You have your whole life before your Change.” “Why are you here?” “You're early...” “Is something wrong?” “What is it?” “What is it?”

“Where is Rodney?” Sam asked.

The whispers changed, growing excited. The forms on their bellies slid into vacated hot tubs, cavorting in the water as they hissed and gibbered and added to the cacophony. “He's coming.” “Soon.” “Soooooon.” “Very soon.” “He's coming.”

And then all the voices stopped before starting again as one. “He's here...”

The creature that came through the door was somehow less human than those things that crawled on their bellies and hissed. It had the head of a fish, blank blue eyes shining green in the darkness. Around its neck there rattled a ruff of small spines, fading into the larger dorsal spines that shook and shuddered and hummed along with the strength of its purring. It crawled on four paws, then two, then three, never making up its mind. Behind it swayed a fat tail, held just above the floor, waving as it moved. Its scales shimmered with all the light the room lacked, seeming to glow with what little reflected light there was in the all-too-visible darkness.

It... no... **he**... Rodney...

Sam shuddered though it had nothing to do with the cold as she stared at the creature that had once been someone she called a friend. As she watched the Deep One, the one they all called the Mother, move with a grace that seemed completely incongruous to its girth and size. As she heard his purr for the first time in nearly four years.

“Rodney,” she whispered.

Rodney dropped to four paws at the edge of the mudbath and leaned over. His black claws gleamed even without light. Her own hands itched at the sight, at the knowledge that hers could look like that if she stopped filing them down.

The whispers began again. “You're here...” “You're really here...”

Then Rodney dropped his head onto her shoulder and purred.

Sam **felt** it as a full-body rumble, a shiver that ran through her right to her core. She reached up and slid muddy hands over his scales, marring their shining iridescence with pale white dullness. The purr changed as she was pushed back and then he joined her in the mudbath, curling around behind her and holding her close. He nuzzled the back of her neck as his tail draped over her.

“Stay,” the whispers said. “Please stay.” “I don't know if you can go back.” “You should stay here.” “Maybe you shouldn't have come.” “But you're here now.” “Stay.” “Stay?” “Ssstay...” “Stay here with me...” “Forever...”

Sam tried to move but Rodney rolled over onto her, holding her pinned with his weight. Soft clay squelched around them and she squirmed to keep her face from being submerged. Then he pulled her back into his embrace and she could stop fighting to keep her air. She relaxed. “Rodney...”

The whispers answered her. “Yes?” “What is it?” “Anything, my dear.” “Anything for you.”

“Why are you talking through a Greek chorus?” Sam asked.

Rodney huffed. The whispers answered. “We prefer the term 'peanut gallery'.” “It's more fitting.” “It means we can throw things at him when he's wrong.” Rodney pretended not to hear that one.

“But **why** do you have a peanut gallery?” Sam asked.

Rodney murred and let the voices answer. “The Mother cannot speak.” “Not like this.” “Not like we can.” “He speaks to us.” “He'll speak to you if you want it.” “But only if you want it.” “Because then you can never leave.” “That's an exaggeration.” “True, we still have gate teams.” “Explore the galaxy.” “Disturb the Wraith.” “Fend off requests for marriage from various cultures.” “The humans of Pegasus take this 'monster' thing seriously.” “But we speak for the Mother.” “Until you can hear him.” “Then you belong here.”

That made sense. She wasn't sure how she felt about the mind control aspect of enlisting people to act as one's voice but it made sense.

“I wanted to leave on my own terms,” Sam said. “I couldn't hide it anymore. I've already worn gloves for years to cover the scales on my hands but Medical was bound to find out. The NID was growing very interested in me. My secretary was replaced with a Delta Green agent. They were watching me, waiting. I had to make a decision.

"I was already head of the SGC, what more was there? A lifetime of budgetary concerns? Shaking hands with dignitaries who couldn't begin to understand what I'd given up for them? Making nice with a new government every four to eight years? I know, I could have stayed on Earth. But I don't even know what Nest my bloodline came from. So I'd just give myself over to some strange Mother Hydra and do her bidding for eternity. No. That's not for me. There's more to this, this gift than Singing the stars right.”

Rodney cocked his head and murred questioningly. The peanut gallery stayed silent.

“If you'll have me, I'll stay here,” Sam said.

Rodney purred. She could feel it all through her body, pressed together as they were. She shuddered in time with it, found herself pressing as close to him as possible just to feel it, feel more of it. She could feel his snout at the back of her neck, nuzzling and prodding.

The peanut gallery quietly retreated, their shining eyes disappearing into the night. Soon they were gone and Sam was alone with Rodney. She felt his claws wiping the mud from the back of her neck before his teeth descended, biting her to hold her still. She shuddered and gave only a token struggle. She wasn't sure how she knew what would happen next but she wanted it.

Everything.

*****

The whispers surrounded them. Kaleb held Jeannie close, felt her huddle in his arms shuddering with all the fear he didn't feel. She'd never truly accepted this reality of hers, the realization that she would not remain human forever. Neither had he until he came here and felt the strange humming of this amazing place, this alien city that welcomed them all. It begged them to stay, promised them wonderful beautiful things if they stayed.

They could be perfect.

That hum echoed through him, enticed him, called to him. He wanted nothing more than to stay here with Jeannie and Madison. Even knowing they would change, become 'monsters' as Jeannie insisted, he couldn't leave them. He couldn't ignore the possibility here, the potential.

He had to stay. He had no choice.

His eyes were closed against the oppressive darkness, he didn't need to see to know they were surrounded. There were low whispers all around them, hisses and slithering sounds that combined into a sensation like soft fabric draped over skin. He could **feel** them...

“So it's true.”

Kaleb's eyes shot open even as Jeannie jumped in his arms. They both turned to see the dark shadow of a man standing in the darkness. His eyes shone with green eyeshine, a shine that echoed in little green points all around them.

“Colonel Sheppard?” Jeannie asked.

Kaleb looked down at her, how had she? Oh... Her eyes had the beginnings of that same predatory shine.

The shadow that was Sheppard stepped closer and the sconces on the walls blazed to the dimmest of life. Kaleb could see him now.

John Sheppard stood tall and curiously thin compared to the rounded shapes still in shadow. His eyes shone in the half-light and his teeth looked uncomfortably sharp, like he cut his own mouth on them while he slept. His hands and bare feet were webbed and clawed but he still stood like a human being. He wore what looked like some sort of robes or cloak or maybe both draped over his shoulders. He did not look pleased. “You're here,” he said.

Jeannie pulled away from Kaleb's embrace and stood tiny but tall. “Yes, yes I am,” she said. “We are. Madison's a hybrid and I'm not much better. It's safer here--”

“Get out of here,” Sheppard snapped, cutting her off. “Take Maddie and leave. Get yourselves back to Earth. It's not safe here.”

“And it's safe on Earth?” Jeannie demanded. “Madison's going to change into a monster no matter where we are! So am I! Do you really think us being in Canada will stop Delta Green?!”

“I don't care,” Sheppard said. “I don't care what you do or what you turn into so long as it isn't here.”

Kaleb cocked his head. This... wasn't right. “Why?” he asked. “Obviously we're not the first.”

“You're not changing!” Jeannie snarled, poking Kaleb repeatedly in the chest. “You're heading right back on the _Daedalus_. You promised!”

“A voice of sanity,” Sheppard said, approving.

“Not the point,” Kaleb said. He grabbed Jeannie's hands and held them to his chest before turning his attention to Sheppard. “You don't want Deep Ones here. Why not?”

Sheppard hissed, the first animal sound they'd heard out of him. The whispers began to turn sinister, their green eyes focusing on him. “You don't understand what it's like,” he growled.

“Tell me,” Kaleb said. It was almost a purr.

Sheppard gazed off into the darkness. His eyes lingered on the shadows out there, taking them all in. They were all human once, were all changing at various speeds toward one distinct endpoint. Everyone except him. “Too human to escape the Song,” he murmured. “But too Ancient to Change properly. Trapped in between...” He turned on the Millers, that snarl back in his voice. “Turn this place into a Nest and it'll never end! Deep Ones darting in and out of the towers without end, without reprieve, without purpose! This city used to have a purpose! Now it's...” He slumped as the shadows crept toward him. “Now there's nothing...”

“This city can't find a new purpose?” Kaleb asked.

Sheppard growled at the very idea. The whispering around them grew in fervor. He snarled back at it all, trying to make his voice known. They were all too weak, too human, too tainted to resist the Song like he had. He alone had kept enough of his proper form. He alone resisted the urge to throw himself into the water like the rest of them had and now look where they were. So many couldn't even stand anymore! They'd devolved into creatures that crawled on their bellies and bleated like seals. They were all headed toward that form, slowly, surely, and then only he would be left in the city. He and Rodney, the wretched Mother who begat all this monstrosity.

Even the Wraith were afraid of what had happened here! It was in their buggy yellow eyes, all of them.

“I don't think he's accepted it,” Kaleb said, leaning in to whisper in Jeannie's hair. How long had Sheppard fought against this? From the very beginning? It didn't work then, it wouldn't work now. This city hummed with a new purpose, Sang at the beauty within her halls and her seas. She had already changed even while he resisted for no reason.

Jeannie shook her head.

“I can't go back,” Kaleb admitted. “I don't even want to. Please don't make me.”

Jeannie looked up at him and choked back a sob. She held him tight. “I don't want you to go either,” she said.

“I'll never leave,” Kaleb whispered.

All around them whispers began to drown out the single dissenting voice. “He doesn't speak for us.” “He never liked the idea.” “Even from the beginning.” “He will change or he will die.” “No, he might join the Genii.” “I believe Guide has a standing offer.” “Hssshssshsss...” “Can you see John Sheppard willingly joining the Wraith?” “Okay, no.” “It is funny though.” “The point is, it's his choice to stay here.” "He's free to leave." “And yet he stays.” “Even though he hates it.” “Hates watching the _Daedalus_ lose so many.” “Hates seeing us change.” “Seeing us happy.”

“You're not happy, you're delusional,” Sheppard snapped. He'd curled up on the floor surrounded by fabric and shining eyes and darkness. The lights went out.

“Let's go,” Jeannie said. She tugged at Kaleb's wrists as she pulled out of his embrace. “General Carter said something about the central spire. At least we can get to the control room.”

“Lead on,” Kaleb said. “I can't see a thing in this night.”

Shocked green eyes turned on him. Jeannie only then realized she was seeing in the dark like they were. He reached a hand up to her face, only somewhat sticking his thumb up her nose as he stroked her cheek. “Soon,” he said. “I will soon.”

She led him to the transporter, wrapped her arms tightly around him, then pressed the button. The world changed.

*****

And so Atlantis fell into legend.

Just as the bitter Arctic seas and the howling North winds blocked the mythical Hyperborea from Greece so too did the SGC declare the real Hyperborea off-limits. The _Daedalus_ returned to Atlantis only once under the command of Colonel Sobel. Once was enough for much of the crew to mutiny and flee into the city. After that all communication was cut and the Atlantis IDC went missing. All files were closed.

Atlantis became a place of monsters. The Athosians ran the city during the day, living and growing and cavorting through corridors finally made safe from the Ancient's follies. The Deep Lanteans ruled the city by night, the Mother's Song echoing through the spires stronger than ever before. The Mother Hydra was no longer alone as he was joined by his Father Dagon, a female who was once called 'general'. Family followed and over the centuries the Atlantis Nest grew large enough that even the city herself was satisfied.

With the loss of General Carter the original Tau'ri members of SG-1 passed into legend and memory. Legends of the two Ascended, of Dr. Jackson who always returned until the one time he didn't leave alone, of Jack O'Neill who befriended the Asgard, was born of the Ancients, freed the Jaffa, and finally followed Daniel to the stars. Legends of Sam Carter, who used every talent known to humanity and many from elsewhere to build the dialing computer, blow up a star, lay the false gods down low and uplift their slaves, and rule Atlantis then the SGC before she finally returned to her Ancient kingdom to shed what little humanity she hadn't already sacrificed for Earth as she too became something more.

Teal'c joined those legends when he left the SGC for the last time, taking up his seat on the Jaffa High Council. He led the rebuild from the Ori's devastation and brought the free Jaffa people into the Galaxy as a power unto themselves. Yet even he looked up at the stars and wondered which ones were his friends.

The _Daedalus_ was reassigned to the Milky Way but her reputation preceded her. She remained Caldwell's ship despite the man being listed as MIA, 'missing in Atlantis'. Crews were hard to come by and the command staff swore she would set courses for the Pegasus Galaxy on her own, honest. The ship was declared haunted, cursed, or pining for her lost commander, depending on who one spoke to. She was decommissioned in 2015 and her hyperdrive core incorporated into the _Azazael_ , which itself soon became a ship known for its quirks.

Colonel Mitchell stepped down from the command of SG-1 and took up command of SG-13 with Vala as his second. Thirteen seemed like the safer number and SG-1 was permanently disbanded, the designation retired. It was safer this way, he would say. It was the only way to ensure he stayed human, he didn't have to say.

And so Atlantis drifts the oceans of her icy world, Singing to stars that will never go right in a galaxy ruled by monsters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha. I said this one would have an ending. It even has an epilogue of sorts.


End file.
